


The Silver Lady

by storyplease



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Humor, Monsters, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-07 01:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8777296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyplease/pseuds/storyplease
Summary: After Hermione experiences a great loss, she seemingly loses the ability to feel, taking on increasingly dangerous jobs slaying murderous creatures so that others will not have to suffer as she has. But when a new assignment is offered to her, Hermione will be forced to confront both her past and the possibility of a future that may finally allow her a glimmer of happiness again.





	1. A Very Grimmauld Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note : Hello all! So I’ve been working on this story for a few weeks (it’s been really hard because I keep getting stabbed in the face with writer’s block). It’s getting far too long to just have as a one-shot, so I’m going to separate it into chapters for ease of reading. I am nearly finished with the entire story, but would like to get out the first part as a kick in the pants to finish the story because I know you guys won’t let me slither out of it. There may be some sexytimes later on as well as violence, but I will warn you ahead of time so that you won’t be blindsided by it.

The three figures flew through the forest on spectral steeds that could only be seen by those who understood death. It was no question that death was no stranger to the man with rounded glasses and black hair tied back from his head or the tall, thin man with the fiery red hair that stood out from his scalp as though he was currently being run through with an electric charge. The third, a woman with dark, flashing eyes and wild snarls of bushy hair, pressed her charge and flew ahead of the other two as though possessed. Upon her face was a look of righteous fury that burned with lethal heat.

 

There was no question as to the goal of the three as they cut through the night with scarlet Auror’s robes whipping out violently behind them.

 

They would find the evil they sought.

 

And then they would end it.

 _Five years later.._.

 

A figure appeared on the front step of Grimmauld Place with only the faintest sound of crackling static. She wore midnight blue robes dusted with tiny flakes of snow. It gave her the appearance of being wrapped up in a sky full of stars, though she was, in fact unaware of how similar it looked to the cloudless night sky above her. Her hood was pulled down and a scarf was wrapped tightly under her nose to protect her face from the freezing winter wind. She knocked briskly and the door opened to admit her.

 

“Hermione, I’m so glad you could come!” Harry appeared, wearing a hand-knitted sweater bearing a large ‘H’ and a pair of thin-legged jeans. He smiled at her, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

Hermione pulled back her hood, unwrapped her scarf, and stared at him, her eyes such a dark brown that they nearly seemed black in the candlelit hallway.  Her hair fell around her face in short, springy twists, but even though she only had a few fine lines in her face to signify that she was merely in her late twenties, each strand was a perfectly even silver, as though they’d been spun individually and affixed to her head. In a stark contrast to the lively appearance of her hair, her expression was neutral and almost cold.

 

“Thank you for inviting me,” Hermione said, her voice emotionless.

 

“It’s been awhile. I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to make it,” Harry continued, running his hand through his hair. It was obvious from his body language that he was nervous around her. “Ginny and the kids have been asking about you….even Molly’s glad you said you’d come.”

 

Hermione stared at him, not at all fooled by his obvious lie. “I know I remind them...of what they lost…”

 

Harry shook his head. “C’mon Hermione! Ron would hate that you’ve become like this, and after he saved you from that nest of manticores!”

 

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I know how they feel. They wish Ron was walking in through those doors, not me. I don’t blame them for that. You know what happened after….”

 

“He died a hero, Hermione,” Harry said, touching her shoulder gently. “He died saving you, the one person he loved more than anyone in the world. He died doing what he wanted to do. You didn’t have to throw yourself into being a ruthless huntress who exterminates magical creatures just because he isn't with us any longer.”  


“There’s no such thing as a good death. You, out of everyone I know, should understand that. You are right about one thing, though. There’s nothing I can do. He’s gone, Harry,” Hermione said evenly, her face still eerily expressionless. “All I can do is ensure that no one else has to endure what I did.”

 

They reached the door to the dining room and Hermione lagged behind Harry, though she said nothing else.

 

“Come on. It’s just one evening. Then you can go back to killing all the nasty beasties in Britain,” Harry said affably, and Hermione simply nodded, following him as he pushed open the doors.

 

Inside, there was a lively sort of chaos that only the Weasley family could produce.  Hermione looked around with a steady gaze, her expression flickering slightly as she saw the toddler running around in footie pajamas and the infant on Ginny’s lap.  

  
“Come on in, Hermione!” came Molly’s cheerful voice from the head of the table as she stood and blustered over in a ruffle of robes, “We’ve set a place for you here, dear.”

 

Hermione took a few steps, being careful not to touch anyone or anything. She stood stiffly and quietly as she waited for Molly to show her to her spot.

 

“You look...good,” Molly said, her eyes lingering on Hermione’s hair for a moment too long. Even though Molly’s hair was streaked with gray, it was still largely fiery red, just like her children’s hair. Hermione was aware that the silver in her hair, a reminder of just how close the manticore’s poison had brought her to an untimely death, was also a reminder of how Ron hadn’t made it.

 

“Thanks,” Hermione said, averting her eyes and taking a seat at the marked spot, which was across from Ginny.

 

“Well, I’ll let you two catch up,” Molly said, a strained smile on her face, “I have to check the spinach puffs.”

 

“Thank you for the invitation,” Hermione reiterated, her gaze moving to the infant in Ginny’s lap.  

 

“Hey,” Ginny said, making a face at the baby, who giggled. “Have you met little Albie?”

 

“I thought Harry said his name was Albus...after the headmaster,” Hermione replied.

 

“Well, yeah, but I think we like _Albie_ better, don’t we? We don’t speak of your middle name, either. It’s not like you at all, is it?” Ginny said in a singsong voice as she snuggled the giggling baby and tickled his chubby cheek. “James Sirius Potter! Don’t play with Uncle George’s Exploding Snap deck!”

 

The toddler turned around and gave her a look that was all defiance.

 

Ginny arched her eyebrow and pulled out her wand.  Instantly, James was lifted into the air and placed against the wall with a Sticking Charm. Rather than seeming upset about it, the little boy clapped and kicked his feet with excitement.

 

“Little bugger thinks it’s a game,” Ginny said. “That’s the third time tonight, if you’ll believe it.”

 

“Ah,” Hermione said, twisting the striped Wizard Cracker that had been in front of her on the table in one hand.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve been going on all about myself. How’s the monster extermination business? Harry says it’s rather glamorous,” Ginny said with a knowing smirk. “I can’t wait to get back to the Harpies after Albie is six months. Your mum is going stir crazy without any broom practice, yes she is!”  Ginny cooed at Albie, who drooled and bobbed his head.

 

“Ginny I’m sorry, but...I have to...get some air.” Hermione stood and turned, leaving the Wizard Cracker, which was now somewhat worse for wear, on the table.

 

“Ok, Hermione, I get it. But just so you know, if you’re ever looking to dye your hair-” Hermione didn’t hear the rest of Ginny’s words, as she slammed the library door behind her and stood with her back to the dark wood, breathing in the comforting scent of parchment and old pipe tobacco.

 

Hermione walked over to the windows and opened one slightly, allowing the cold air to cool her neck as she drew back her collar slightly.  She knew her face was as deadpan as ever, but there was something about seeing Ginny with her children only reminded Hermione of everything she would never have.  She’d only just found out about her pregnancy when she’d been set upon by manticores and something had broken inside of her when she lost both Ron and their unborn child after the incident. There were still days where she wished she’d followed them when she had the chance, for she knew it was all her fault.

 

She’d not realized that sudden dizziness was common in the first trimester.  Without a doubt, she knew that if she’d only been less stubborn about waiting to notify the office until she’d passed her first trimester, she would never have accidentally fallen through a rotted floorboard into a manticore nest.  The poison would not have taken them and cruelly allowed her survival. She would have had a family if not for her selfishness.

 

And so, she was cold. Emotionless.  Nothing touched her. Nothing affected her. She would never love anything or anyone enough to do something stupid again. She studied and she killed dangerous creatures. Sometimes she hoped that the monster would win so she wouldn’t have to keep going, but inevitably, she came out of each encounter with a stronger reputation than ever before.  She made better money than when she was with the Auror’s office, and because she was her own boss, she could choose her own assignments and could work as many hours as she wished.

 

She worked more often than she did not.

 

Hermione pulled out a small bag and tapped on it with her wand to enlarge it.  She’d bought all manner of gifts for everyone, because she only spent the bare minimum to survive, and she figured she’d do something to make up for all the years she’d begged off or simply pretended to forget that she’d been invited.  She had a flat she never really used other than to sleep and store some her clothing when she wasn’t on an assignment. There were, of course, a few bookcases full of books, but that was for research. With a final sigh, Hermione closed and latched the window before dragging the bag into the dining room.

 

“I brought presents,” she said, but everyone was talking and laughing and Hermione knew that no one had heard.  She moved quietly to the Christmas tree by the fireplace and deposited the nicely wrapped gifts underneath it before turning and slipping back out into the front hallway.

 

Her black and tan eagle owl, Sebastian, found her moments after she stepped off of the stoop of Grimmauld Place and into the cold, snowy street.  She could see that the earlier clouds had temporarily receded, leaving a moonless night sky above her as Sebastian alighted on her left shoulder, his claws digging into the thick, leather padding she had installed in her robes along with Impervious charms that had been woven into the fabric. He was heavy, but she barely seemed to notice his weight as he extended his leg and she pulled the roll of parchment free. With her other hand, she pulled a dried frog from her chest pocket and fed it to her owl, who gulped it down happily.

 

“You can go home, Sebastian,” Hermione said, allowing him to walk down her sleeve.  She cast a warming charm on him for good measure and he hooted with pleasure as his feathers grew fluffier than usual.

 

He looked sideways at her and hooted.

 

Hermione allowed a tiny hint of a smile to grace her lips. “You be safe as well.”

 

Hermione flung her arm up and gave the owl a springboard to launch into the air. In moments, he was gone. Hermione looked at the coordinates under the nearest streetlamp and nodded.

 

“This should be keep my mind off of things,” she muttered to herself.

 

With a fizzling crack, Hermione Disapparated just as Harry opened the door to his house and raised his hand to wave her back into the house.

 

“Oh, Hermione,” Harry said, turning reluctantly to go back inside. “Can’t you see that I’m worried about you?”


	2. A Job of Indeterminate Size

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Why yes, I am writing a new story. And no, I haven’t given up on the other two stories languishing away here.  But I kinda wanted to write a slightly different Hermione this time, and I couldn’t resist the story idea (looks at Corvus Draconis suspiciously).

The tickets to the train had been waiting in the ticketmaster’s booth just like the note had said, and Hermione loosened her scarf as she stared out the window.  Fat snowflakes whirled around the foggy glass, and Hermione wondered exactly what was so important that she had to take a midnight train on Christmas Eve. The train itself wouldn’t arrive until early on Christmas day, and though Hermione wasn’t exactly sure of the validity of the claim that had been in the initial letter, she had to admit that her interest was piqued. The Galleons that had already been transferred to her Gringotts account to prioritize her services hadn’t hurt, either.

 

“A beast of indeterminate size,” she mused to herself, tracing shapes on the foggy glass. “I’ve never killed one of those before. It could, of course, just be a run-of-the-mill Graybacker Werewolf, but a job is a job.”

 

Hermione knew that most werewolves were innocents who merely needed to take the Wolfsbane potion, but the Graybackers were an extremist sect of werewolves who had decided to follow in Fenrir Grayback’s footsteps. They were particularly dangerous because they targeted children. She’d killed at least five of them, so they were normally no trouble at all on their own, but it was always hard to tell if one was working alone or in a group.

 

Still, from the description, Hermione couldn’t help but feel a slight sense of excitement rising in her chest. For her, this was the time she felt most alive- when she was about to start the hunt.

 

She closed her eyes though she knew she wouldn’t truly get to sleep.  Without looking, she raised several highly potent wards to keep intruders out and forced herself to rest.  

 

From the look of the snow outside, she would need her strength.

“Ah, Miss Granger! So good to meet you in person! I am Mr. Grellis Snignibbon. You may not know me, but you come very highly recommended!” The diminutive man who stood before her was obviously at least half-goblin, but Hermione didn’t mind. She’d done plenty of work for Gringotts before, as unauthorized mountain trolls often blundered their way into vaults after digging deep into the earth and coming up under the bank.

 

“You mentioned a massive beast in your letter,” she said, handing the parchment to him. “Can you tell me more?”

 

“Ah, you’re just as my friend said. Very matter-of-fact.  I like that,” Mr. Snignibbon said. ”The truth is, I recently acquired property that reaches from the outskirts of town all the way to at the top of the nearby mountain. It is my plan to convert all of it into an exclusive winter retreat for the magically inclined.  As you can probably conclude from the fact that it will be the first of its kind, it promises to be very lucrative. I would like to begin construction sooner rather than later.  The problem is that there is  _ something _ in these woods that comes out each evening to terrorize my workers. None of my people have been harmed yet, thank goodness, but the reports are very worrying, and thanks to the regularity of these incidents, no one will stay in the base camp. I’ve already lost half of my work crew, and the other half won’t stay there past midday. If you believe the reports from the townsfolk, two people have been snatched and are presumed dead.”

 

“Do you know if it’s a group or a single creature?” Hermione asked, summoning a pen and notepad from her bag with a lazy flick of her wand. She slipped her wand into the wrist holster on her right arm and flipped to a blank page to take notes.

 

“Reports only seem to suggest one, but it’s always possible there could be more.  It would be your responsibility to find out and dispose of anything in the way of my plans...in the manner of your own choosing,” he said with a shrug. “I do know it isn’t a werewolf.  Whatever this creature is, it doesn’t howl. It  _ wails _ . On quiet nights, we can hear echoes down here in the valley and it even makes  _ my _ skin crawl.”

 

Hermione frowned.  Goblins were not known for being squeamish or fearful, even when faced with a full-sized dragon. “I am equipped to take this job, but I have decided that I would like twice the amount you offered to complete it.”

 

“Oh?” Mr. Snignibbon cocked his head and looked at her appraisingly over his half-moon glasses. “And exactly  _ why _ do you think that I would pay it?”

 

“Because it’s obvious that you wouldn’t be wasting my time if you were able to rid yourself of it through any other means,” Hermione replied, a bored expression on her face as she examined her fingernails. “I can only imagine that with the money and staff you already have at your disposal, you have already made an effort to stop the creature with no success.”

 

The goblin scowled. “Four retired Aurors for hire couldn’t bring it down. I do not wish to waste more coin on inadequate services.”

 

“Understandable. Which is why I have set the price as such.  I don’t do failure.” Hermione stared back evenly at Mr. Snignibbon’s sharp-toothed sneer. “And, may I remind you, that we do not have a contract as of yet. I have three other offers that I could easily take instead, but your job intrigued me.  Still, intrigue doesn’t put food on the table or pay the rent.  It is your choice, Mr. Snignibbon.”

 

Hermione was stretching the truth a bit about the number of jobs she had waiting for her, but she could still afford to be picky, as she rarely ever spent her earnings on anything extra. Though she wasn’t like Luna with her incessant desire to go questing for new magical creatures, Hermione was still interested, especially since most of her work was dangerous but admittedly repetitive. 

 

“Very well. I shall adhere to your price,” Mr. Snignibbon said slowly, a bitter expression on his face. “I warn you, it’s not just the beast that you need to worry about. The mountain is treacherous in its own right.  We haven’t been able to place the appropriate charms to prevent avalanches or mark off crevices and sudden drops except for at the lowest base camp. Here is our most current map” Mr. Snignibbon handed her a small roll of parchment tied with string.

 

“That is good to know.  I will contact you once the contract is fulfilled.” Hermione placed the map in her pocket and turned toward the door. She secretly relished the small gasp of shock from behind her.

 

“You mean you’re going out there... _ now _ ?  On a snowy Christmas morning?” Mr. Snignibbon exclaimed. “Nobody in their right mind would be out there at this hour.”

 

“I’ve hunted in worse,” came the reply as Hermione slipped out into the early frozen morning.

Hermione took a deep breath as she started walking towards the outskirts of town, tiny flakes of snow silently falling all around her. She felt secretly relieved that she no longer had to put up a facade of sociability now that she was alone again. Ever since Ron’s death, she’d preferred her own company.  It was simpler to detach herself from everything than to have to worry constantly about what people thought of her or about who she had to be responsible for.  At least Harry had settled down. His duties as Head Auror were largely desk work now, and Hermione knew that he was secretly glad for it.

 

To be fair, she was probably more glad than he was, even though she didn’t show it outwardly.  There was something freeing in the numbness she carried with her, like a blanket of indifference that filtered out all of the unimportant interference in the world around her.  The snow, too, helped with that by absorbing most of the sound as she walked on the crisp, freshly-fallen snow.  She had checked the embedded snowshoe charms on her boots while on the train, and they were working wonderfully as she passed the marker that signalled that she’d reached the edge of the small village.  The way ahead was steep and choked with dark, tall trees covered with snow. Hermione took one last look back at the cheery glow in the windows of the town behind her. Then, she pulled out her wand and sent up three lanterns filled with blue fire dancing around her head before unrolling the map and continuing onward.

 

She had a job to complete, after all.  

 

“Merry Christmas, Ron,” she said softly from behind her scarf as she looked up at the dark gray sky. “Wherever you are now.”

 

Hermione didn’t see signs of the creature as she continued onward through the trees, but she was taken by how quiet it was in the forest. It was an empty feeling that felt borderline unnatural, but Hermione steeled herself and continued onward.  She knew of the danger that lay ahead. From what she had gathered, the beast appeared to be nocturnal, but she also knew that she needed to make it to the deserted base camp where it had been sighted so many times before sundown.  As the snow began to fall more aggressively and the wind grew sharp and bit at her nose, Hermione could tell that it was going to be a long, arduous day of walking.

Hermione looked down at her compass and scowled.  It was nearly four in the afternoon and she still hadn’t come across the base camp. She had checked her map regularly and followed the instructions. She’d even begun marking trees by cutting small notches in their trunks with wand. Luckily, she’d not run into any of said trees, which was a good sign that she was not walking in circles, but it still bothered her to know that she was still not at the camp itself. The thick forest seemed to press in all around her, making her feel unusually small. The dark canopy above her was only punctuated by patches of white where the snow showed through. The sun had not fully set yet even this far North, but it was dark enough that Hermione had been forced to add two additional magical lanterns to light her way. 

 

“I am not lost. I am not lost,” she repeated over and over to herself like a mantra, though it was getting hard to continue believing it. 

 

Finally, she came to a clearing, which was next to a frozen creek. She looked down at the ice and saw the dim shadow of her reflection staring back at her. 

 

“This is ridiculous!” she hissed, looking around. “I'm never going to find what I'm looking for down here!”

 

The problem was that Hermione did not carry a broom with her, as she did not trust them. It was easy for many magical creatures to interfere with a broom’s flight, though she'd hated flying long before she'd ever gone into the monster hunting business. 

 

Looking up at a nearby tree, its branches heavy with new snow, she was struck with an idea. Falling down on all fours, Hermione shifted into her animagus form. Though a tiny squirrel with a big, bushy tail was nearly useless in battle, there were times when it came in handy. 

 

Hermione squeaked with determination and dig her tiny claws into the bark of the tree. It was climbing time. 

 

Hermione didn't reach the top of the tree for some time. The cold was nearly unbearable under her fur, and she was reminded that squirrels hibernated for a reason. However, she persevered and after a few close calls, she finally reached a high enough branch that seemed like it would support her weight when she shifted back. Having an animagus form was useful, but Hermione could not use magic while transformed, nor could she see nearly as well with both eyes on either sides of her head. 

 

She steadied herself against the trunk of the tree and tried not to look down. Pulling out her wand, she cast an Eagle Eye spell and turned around, looking for any sign of a camp. 

 

Instead, all she saw were more trees. 

 

Grumbling, Hermione decided to climb a bit higher and balanced part of her weight on a higher branch before pulling herself up using the trunk. It wasn't glamorous and she was sure she had gotten more than a few slivers, but she managed it. 

 

With the added height, Hermione could see what looked like the top of a stone building a little to the east of her position. As she watched, smoke curled out of the top of what she supposed must be a chimney. 

 

She frowned, checking the map again. Nothing was marked on the map, but then again, she supposed that it was outdated. Goblins, for all their business cunning and knowledge of precious metals, weren't known for their cartography skills. 

 

Just then, the wind picked up and tore the map from her hands. Instinctively, Hermione grasped for it, only to realize half a second later that she was standing on an icy branch high in a tree. One foot shot out from under her and the branch she clawed at to stop her fall snapped loudly in the silence of the winter forest. Hermione fell, covering her face with one hand as small branches and dead leaves slammed into her. She slid her hand into her pocket and grasped her wand, putting all of her energy into a Levitation charm. It slowed her descent, but not by enough for the nearing ground to seem welcoming in the least. 

 

As she struggled to grab hold of anything, she twisted in the air only to feel something solid and cold slam into her side. 

 

The branch snapped with a deep, echoing crunch and Hermione could feel something inside of her break as well. She tried to scream but she couldn't seem to catch her breath. 

 

She lost hold on the Levitation charm and fell like a broken doll onto the blanket of snow beneath the tree. Her eyes barely open as she struggled to breathe, Hermione could feel the hot, salty tang of blood filling her mouth. 

 

As her consciousness faded into reddish darkness, she heard an inhuman wail and the hot chuffing of breath spilling out somewhere nearby as large, heavy footfalls crunched through the snow towards where she lay.

 

‘Ron,’ she thought as her mind fragmented into nothingness, ‘please...let me see you soon.’


	3. An Encounter to Remember

****Hermione felt as though she was being held down by the crushing weight of a hundred blankets.  She tried to move her arms, but they were so heavy that she eventually gave up.  She cracked open one eye and winced at the brightness of her surroundings. Slowly, she opened her eyes, allowing them to adjust to the light. Even though she was certain that she was going to have a lingering headache, the light finally became manageable and she realized that the whiteness all around her was not, in fact, snow.

 

Something moved out of the corner of her eye and she turned her head sharply, regretting it immediately. Her body bloomed with pain from her head down to her toes, and she let out an involuntary groan between gritted teeth.

 

“Sorry miss. Didn’t mean to scare you,” said a soft voice from the foot of her bed.  Hermione blinked through the involuntary tears in her eyes as the pain began to lessen slightly and tried to get a good look at the figure at the foot of her bed.  The girl was small- maybe nine years old at the most, but there was something strange about her face. Her long, straw-colored hair fell over one eye and she stared at Hermione with a strange intensity.  “The professor brought you. It’s my job to help. I’m your maid! Look how pretty my dress is!”

 

She spun around slowly in an old-style black and white maid outfit and Hermione wondered who even made people wear attire like that anymore. Her second thought was that this supposed “professor” must be some sort of pervert, especially if he had clothing like that and made a child wear it, though it wasn’t revealing in any way, and the skirt nearly touched the floor.

 

Still, Hermione shuddered involuntarily and let out another moan of pain despite herself.

 

“I’m gonna help with bringing you food and changing your bandages! He’ll be in to see you later this evening when he’s finished in his laboratory.”  The girl smiled and picked up a tray of food.  “Your arms are still healing, so I have to feed you, but I don’t mind! It’ll be fun!”

 

Hermione almost felt like smiling at how happy the girl was to help, but she was also still full of questions.  Who was the man who’d saved her from her fall? How bad had her injuries been, anyway? And exactly _where_ was she?  

 

When she opened her mouth to ask these questions, a hoarse, nearly inhuman sound escaped her lips.

 

“You...your body was all broken when he brought you,” the girl said, her eyes suddenly shy. “He fixed you with medicine, but you’re not all better yet. Now you need to eat to get your strength back.  Come on, open up and say ah!”

 

Hermione opened her mouth but didn’t say anything.  She hated feeling like she was being babied, especially from someone young enough to be her daughter.  Her heart twinged at that thought before she could stop herself from thinking it, and she nearly choked on the spoonful of soup that was poured into her mouth.

 

It wasn’t the best soup she’d ever eaten, but it was better by far than anything she’d had at the cafe around the block from her flat, and Hermione let her mind wander as the girl fed her.  There wasn’t much else to eat other than the soup, but Hermione found she wasn’t very hungry anyway.  The girl lifted a straw to Hermione’s parched lips, and she sucked down some ice water to cool her down when she was finished with the soup.

 

The girl smiled at her and tucked in her covers a bit before taking the tray in her hands and turning to leave. “Oh!” she said, suddenly, turning and nearly knocking over the empty cup on the tray, “I forgot to tell you! My name is Mimi!”

 

Hermione grunted back to show that she’d heard the girl.

 

“Oh! And, just so you know. The professor...he’s a bit scary looking, but he’s actually nice.” Mimi looked at the floor and blushed. “He...he saved me too.”

 

With that, she stepped through the door and it swung shut behind her, leaving Hermione to think about all that Mimi had said.

 

She hoped this “professor” would visit her soon. Preferably with more answers and some potent healing potions.

 

Hermione slept.

* * *

 

“Ah. You’re awake.”  A soft, deep voice spoke to her from the shadows as Hermione opened her eyes.  The flickering candlelight and muted light from the windows made it hard to make out his face, but his voice sounded somehow familiar, though she knew there was no way she’d know anyone up in such a remote area. “We don’t have much time.”

 

She made a strangled noise and he stepped closer.  She felt a flash of recognition for a moment before she shook her head. _No. That couldn’t be right.  He’s dead._

 

The man who stood before her was tall and though his face was still angular and thin, he had a slight paunch to his belly. It may have been the brown suit he wore with a rather hideous purple velvet vest, but in any case, the ill-fitting clothing only accentuated his flaws. His hair was pulled back from his face in a ponytail, and she could see small silver hairs on both temples, but other than that, his hair was a dark black that nearly blended with the shadows of the room. He wore small, circular glasses that perched on his hooked nose in a manner that suggested he mostly used them for reading, not distance.  His skin, however, was the sort of pale color one gets from staying inside far too much, and she could tell at once that he wasn’t what she would consider the athletic type.

 

Hermione had never been much for athletics when she was younger (especially those done astride a broom), but as a professional monster hunter, she’d had to bulk up her strength considerably. She’d never have the physique of a bodybuilder, but her muscles were well-defined under the soft curve of flab she’d developed from far too many take away dinners. It was, after all, easy to be disinterested in cooking after coming home with monster gore on one’s robes.

 

“You suffered a very bad fall,” he said, his voice husky and somewhat odd, as though he had a cold. “I was nearby, though, and found you in time. Mimi and Charlotte were able to use the potions we had on hand, but it was a rough night. You only just made it through.”

 

Hermione nodded and did her best to move her sore neck to show her throat, grunting loudly to get his attention.

 

“Yes,” he said, unstoppering a bottle, “Your larynx was damaged when it was impaled on a rock.  The potions mostly stopped the bleeding and did some superficial healing so you wouldn’t die, but we still have a ways to go in your treatment before everything can be healed.”

 

Hermione looked skeptically into his dark eyes as he readied the dose.

  
“Hmph,” he snorted, “If we were going to kill you, we would have simply left you there to die. Need I remind you that we weren’t sure you’d make it more than once?”

 

For a moment, she thought she saw a flash of sharp teeth that were far too long to be human, but then his mouth was closed in a thin line and he was pouring the dosage down her throat, massaging it with his surprisingly warm fingers in order to get her to swallow without choking.

 

“I know that you probably don’t appreciate being touched by a stranger, but I assure you that I am only doing what is necessary. I shall be back tomorrow morning to check on your progress, for there are...things that I must attend to tonight.”

 

Hermione licked her parched lips. She could already feel a strange tingling sensation in her throat as the potion began repairing the lingering damage.  When she finally choked out her first intelligible words, he had already disappeared.

 

Even with the magical properties of potions, healing so rapidly was incredibly draining.

 

Before she knew it, Hermione's eyes closed and she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

 

“You’ll have to wake her up. I don’t have much time.”  The voice was urgent and Hermione found herself shaken awake.

 

“Hnghhhwhat?” The sound that escaped her lips wasn’t pretty, but it was better than the day before.  Hermione moved her tongue around in her mouth and marveled at the fact that her broken and missing teeth had largely repaired themselves while she was sleeping.  Her nose, too, was easier to breathe out of, and she supposed that her face was quite a lot less smashed-looking.

 

“Good morning. I promise this will be brief.”  The man from the evening before took a number of vitals and measured another dosage of potion before pulling out his wand and casting some diagnostic charms that felt rather hurried and uncomfortable as they probed Hermione’s body. “Very good. You’re coming along nicely, but you still have a ways to go. Mimi will take things from here.”

 

WIth that, he turned and disappeared out of the door without a word, but not before he stumbled slightly against the door frame and Hermione thought she saw something long pressing against the back of his trousers.

 

 _No...that couldn’t be._..Hermione flushed despite herself.

 

“Don’t worry about him,” Mimi said cheerfully, as Hermione glared at the door. “He’s always like that, but he’s actually quite nice.”

 

“His bedside manner leaves much to be desired,” Hermione rasped, momentarily delighted that she could actually say anything at all. “I do have to hand it to him, though. His potions are quite robust.”

 

“Well, your voice sounds a lot better, miss!” Mimi said excitedly. “Let’s see how your arms are doing!”

 

“Please, call me Hermione. Miss sounds...wrong,” Hermione replied, her voice sounding like sandpaper.

 

“Ok, um...Miss Hermione,” Mimi replied after a moment.

  
Hermione resisted the urge to let out a sigh.  Well, at least it was _something_.

 

She took Hermione’s arm and unwrapped it, watching carefully as Hermione bent her elbow and tested the arm, which looked fine other than a fading scar on her wrist.  Mimi handed her a small cup of tea and Hermione was able to pick it up without incident, though her bicep cramped a bit when she brought the cup to her lips.  The tea was warm and didn’t burn her throat going down, which was a relief.  Meanwhile, Mimi unwrapped Hermione’s other arm as well.

 

“So...is he...er...your father, then?” Hermione asked awkwardly, not sure what she should say next as the silence dragged on.

 

“Oh...well...kind of, I suppose.  He saved me. Charlotte too,” Mimi said simply, but she didn’t elaborate and Hermione thought it best not to pry.

 

“I don’t wish to scare you, but I was wondering if you know about a large creature that seems to be prowling the woods,” Hermione tried, after a long moment.

 

“I...I don’t really...sorry, I don’t go outside very often, so I can’t really say,” the girl said, looking away, her expression conflicted.  

 

Hermione noticed, but tried to pretend that she hadn’t seen it. “Ah, well, that’s good to hear.”

 

“Your voice is sounding much better. Do you think you can eat a bit of breakfast?”

 

Hermione was able to eat some of the scrambled eggs, but nearly choked on the overly-dry muffin.

 

“Charlotte likes baking.  She says it’s like making potions, but between you and me, her potions skills are way better,” Mimi confided.

 

Hermione agreed with Mimi’s assessment as she soothed her throat with a glass of orange juice.

 

“So...then, I don’t mean to sound rude, but what day is it? I remember it was Christmas day when I fell,” Hermione said, when she was done.

 

“It’s the twenty-ninth of December,” Mimi said, “I know ‘cuz it’s on my calendar.”

 

Hermione had to stop herself from swearing in front of the girl. “I appreciate all that you all have done for me, but I have...work to do,” she said carefully. She wasn’t sure exactly how far she was from where she’d been searching and she knew that if she didn’t check back with her client that he would assume she had failed. Suddenly, her eyes went wide as she realized something even more important. “My wand! Oh...Mimi, did he...er...did he find my things when he rescued me?”

 

Mimi frowned for a moment as she thought. “I don’t know,” she answered, “but I’ll ask him and let you know.”

 

That attended to, Hermione sank back into the bed until she realized she had a different sort of urgent problem. “Um...this is kind of embarrassing,” Hermione said, “but I need to...er...use the loo.”

 

“Oh!” Mimi exclaimed, “Let me help you!”

 

Hermione swung her legs out and noticed that they, too looked miraculously unmangled. From how she’d felt the night before, she was rather amazed at the difference.  They twinged as she put weight on them, but with Mimi’s help, they managed.  

 

“You’re pretty strong for a little kid,” Hermione commented, when she was back in the bed.

 

“Well...I do a lot of chores,” Mimi said, flexing her muscles, “and besides, you’re almost all better so you didn’t really need all that much help anyway.”

 

Eventually, Mimi left, but not before showing Hermione the bookcase that stood at the far wall. For lack of anything better to do, Hermione stood and hobbled over, catching herself when she tripped by grabbing onto the back of a chair. The professor was right. She was still healing. If she tried to go out into the snow without her wand, she’d probably die. Though she hated to rely on anyone, Hermione had to admit that it was incredibly kind of them to have taken her in.  It was only as she was perusing the books that she realized she hadn’t asked for the name of her mysterious benefactor.

 

As she was looking through a book on Victorian-era charms that she’d never heard of before, Hermione heard a strange sound from the other side of the door.  At first she thought she could hear the sound of heavy footfalls….no...they were different than the sound of shoes. There was a snaggy pull to each step, which suggested claws. As it got closer, there was a strange heavy chuffing sound, as though something massive was sprinting down the hall in the direction of her room. Her first thought was _werewolf_ , though Hermione knew that whatever it was must be at least twice the size of any known breed of dog, and the sun had not set yet. She’d set down her book and was just about to slide out of her bed when the noises stopped in front of her door. She could see something moving in the slight crack underneath it, yet it had become oddly silent, other than a strange growling purr- a sound she’d never heard before.

 

Suddenly, the the creature slammed against her door and Hermione gasped, despite herself.  She looked around for something that could be used as a defensive weapon, but other than a few books that looked heavy enough to lob, Hermione couldn’t find anything truly lethal.  She cursed her lack of a wand and swore she’d demand it from the strange man the next time he came to her room.

 

If she survived.

 

To her relief, the door was solidly built, and she could see the light green sparks of a ward flying into the air as the creature on the other side slammed into the door. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the creature stopped, sniffed loudly and then took off running down the hall.

 

Hermione slumped down against the pillow and waited.  After about half an hour of silence, she stood and hobbled to the door, twisting the handle gently.  

 

It would not move.  

 

She tried harder, jiggling it back and forth in frustration.  Still nothing.

 

“Damned thing! _Open_! I thought I wasn’t a prisoner!” she swore at it.  Still, the door refused to budge.  Eventually, Hermione stomped back to her bed in a huff. She regretted this immediately as the extra pressure pulled a muscle in her right leg and sent pain all the way up her spine.

 

Hermione lay in bed grasping her leg with a grimace on her face.  Her mind whirled with suspicious thoughts that she’d refused to entertain before.  

 

She was trapped, wandless and still mildly injured, in a building with a _monster_. She’d technically been in worse situations than this, it was true, but she had a feeling that the intentions of the creature on the other side of that door were far worse than a simple deadly fall.

  



	4. Demanding Answers

**** By the time Mimi came to deliver supper, Hermione had worked herself into a right state.  This was the first time in years that she’d felt so powerless, and without paper and pen for her to write with, the hours had dragged on with her fuming in silence.

 

“Mimi, I know you’re young, but you need to tell me the truth,” Hermione said, trying not to growl. “I get the feeling that you’re not telling me everything.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re-” Mimi started.

 

Hermione glared at the girl. “Mimi, please. I saw the claw marks when you opened the door. I need to know-  _ what _ , exactly,  _ tried to get into my room _ .”

 

“It’s...it’s only because you’re….you’re…” Mimi stammered, looking afraid as she backed away from Hermione’s stormy expression.

 

“Why, it’s a veritable miracle. Our honored guest is up and about.” A familiar voice came from the entryway to the room and the professor stepped through. “I didn’t realize you had a habit of scaring little girls, Miss Granger.”

 

The man nodded to Mimi, who looked gratefully at him and left quickly.

 

“How did you-?” Hermione couldn’t help but feel that she’d heard her surname spoken in a similar way in the past, but the man’s gruff voice and the two-day-old beard on his face wasn’t familiar at all.

 

“Mimi tells me everything, you know. It’s part of her job,” the man said.

 

“Well,” Hermione replied huffily, “I would prefer to know whom to thank for my involuntary imprisonment, along with the expert medical care, of course. The decor might leave a bit to be desired, though.”  She gestured at the long, deep claw marks in the open door. “Don’t tell me, your clawfoot tub came to life and fancied my door a scratching post?”

 

The man stepped back and slammed the door behind him so that she could no longer see the marks. “I will not be spoken to in that way,” he said, sneering in a frighteningly familiar way as he approached where Hermione sat at the foot of the bed.

 

“I know you, don’t I Professor?” Hermione asked, her eyes widening with realization. “Your voice...your hair...that horrible suit...you look different enough but...I know who you are…”

 

“Do you, then?” the man stepped back, his anger replaced by a careful neutrality, but Hermione could see that her words made him uncomfortable. 

 

“Yes,  _ Professor Snape _ ,” Hermione replied, looking triumphant, “and let me be the first to tell you that you’re looking rather well for a dead man.”

 

“I am no longer a professor!” the man... _ Snape _ ...said fiercely, his eyes flashing. “He. Is.  _ Dead _ . And I am not much better off with my...illness…”

 

This got Hermione’s attention. “What illness?”

 

“It’s none of your business.” Snape scowled, staring at her strangely for a moment, and Hermione could have sworn that his eyes went golden and slitted for a fraction of a moment before he shook his head and screwed his eyebrows into a frown. “Now, kindly finish healing so that you can finally leave!”

 

He slammed a couple of vials on the table and turned, his brown suit doing his form no favors. It was hardly as intimidating as his voluminous black robes.  For some reason, it seemed far too tight on him, even more so than before.  He growled and stumbled, slamming the door behind him, but not before Hermione saw the hand that pulled the door shut.

 

It had grown hairy and clawed...almost like the beginning of a  _ paw _ .  

 

Hermione ran to the door and pressed her ear against the wood as she heard the telltale sounds of a ward being raised on the door and a hasty scrabbling sound as a key was turned in the lock.  Hasty steps echoed down the hall away from her door, but Hermione could almost hear them growing heavier and heavier as they got further away.

 

Then...silence.

 

Hermione looked out the window to see that the sun had just slipped over the horizon and, in the dim light of the rising moon, she could almost make out a massive shape moving across the snow before it disappeared into the forest.

 

She’d found the creature. Hermione knew in her heart of hearts that it was true.

 

But, cruel as he’d been, she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her former professor. After all, he hadn’t asked to become a monster.

 

‘And I didn’t ask to lose the love of my life to one,’ she thought to herself.

 

Hermione was annoyed a few days later when she started to bleed.  She normally cast a charm to stop her monthly cycle from coming, but without her wand, she couldn’t do that, and she felt incredibly uncomfortable asking Snape to cast the charm. Ever since the night where she’d figured out his identity for certain, he’d stayed for briefer and briefer periods of time, sending in a young woman who avoided eye contact and refused to speak to her.  Hermione supposed that she was Charlotte, and from the way the girl carried herself and started rocking back and forth at the slightest rise of Hermione’s voice, Hermione suspected that she was autistic to some degree.

 

She got the odd feeling that Snape was trying to protect Mimi from her, and after she’d unsuccessfully tried to get information from Charlotte the third time, Snape stormed in with her evening meal, slammed it on the table, and then stuck his wand in her face.

 

“Exactly what is  _ wrong _ with you?” he demanded, “You’re harassing my staff and acting a right pain in the arse! I think, given the circumstances, you ought to stop acting like an ungrateful wretch. The lock on your door is for your own protection, you insufferable Gryffindor!”

 

“Oh, look at you, so  _ bravely _ sticking your wand in an unarmed opponent’s face,” Hermione sneered back angrily. “What was it you said? That you’d have left me there if you had wanted me dead? How can I be sure that you didn’t just want to nurse me back to health so you could feed me to the beast that keeps trying to break down my door?”

 

“That was...it….it won’t happen again,” Snape said pulling his wand away and looking somewhat uncomfortable.

  
Hermione glanced at the window momentarily. By her calculations, which had been somewhat difficult to make due to the fact that there wasn’t a single clock in her room, it was close to the time that she’d seen his hand grow furry and clawed before. She’d drawn the shades purposefully, just to see if her plan would work. The heavy falling snow outside helped as well.

 

“Oh really?” she said, her voice tinged with a taunt, “Then why don’t I have my wand just in case?”   
  
He glanced away from her for a moment and sighed. “I’m sorry, Miss Granger, but your wand...met a similar fate when it landed.”

 

He pulled Hermione’s broken wand from his inner pocket. “I’d thought to try and go to town to get the wandmaker there to fix it, but there’s been a blizzard for the past two days and no one can go out into the town when it gets like this on the mountain.  Even though you’ve healed up, and even if you do get a new wand, Apparating out will be difficult in this extreme weather.”

 

“And how long will that take?” Hermione asked, the hysteria in her voice rising sharply. If nothing could go out in the blizzard, then neither could the creature that Snape would turn into.

 

“Sometimes a few weeks. Sometimes a month. Once, it went on for two.” Snape looked resigned, his expression tired.

 

“Can you tell me more about the creature?” Hermione asked, gently, though she was pretty sure she knew most of the details already.

 

“Can you tell me why you thought it a good idea to climb up a frozen tree in the middle of winter on this godforsaken mountain?” Snape replied, answering her question with a question of his own.

 

“I was hired to do a job,” Hermione replied shortly, crossing her arms.

 

“Yeah, and what job was that? Falling to your death?” Snape retorted with a sniff.

 

“Ugh! You’re utterly insufferable, do you know that?” Hermione fumed.

 

“I may have been told as much by multiple people over the years, but what of it?” Snape replied, looking irritated, “After all, it’s not my fault that you were stumbling about by yourself on my property like an idiot in the dead of winter.”

 

“What?” Hermione was taken aback. “What do you mean by  _ your property _ ? Mr. Snignibbon said-”

 

“Oh, well, if  _ Mr. Snignibbon said so _ , then it must be true,” Snape replied sarcastically. “I bought this land fair and square more than ten years ago. The fact that the goblin village down the mountain believes that my purchase of the property was only a rental agreement until they could find a more lucrative use for it, as all goblins seem to do, mustn’t have anything to do with it!”

 

“What? But...I….two people have been snatched by the monster...and...” Hermione sputtered, feeling like she’d lost control of the whole conversation.

 

“Why not use that brilliant encyclopedia of knowledge that you absorbed back at good old Hogwarts to remember how goblins are notorious for going back on their word as long as they can find a  _ loophole _ !” Snape was nearly snarling, and Hermione could see that his teeth were sharper than a normal human’s, his face elongating slightly as though growing more animalistic in nature. “All I ever wanted was to be left alone, but somehow, they figured it out...my...illness, and...Granger...you have to believe me….they were tied up...in the snow...they’d have died if I left them….”

 

He was huffing heavily, his body hunched over as he tried to steady himself, staggering back towards the door before his muscles tightened unnaturally under his skin and he let out a moan of pain.

 

“No...Y...you...did this...on purpose….” he struggled to speak, his hair falling loose over his face, growing longer and bushier as she watched, frozen by the change that was coming over him, “I...c..an’t…”

 

Hermione staggered back as he suddenly shot up in height, falling to all fours onto the carpet and snarling like a demon from the pits of hell itself. Jagged horns broke through the skin of his temples and grew up towards the ceiling, ending in sharpened points. His hair grew longer, covering his face, and Hermione could see a muzzle breaking free, black hair sprouting all over the places where his body could be seen.  The cloth of his ill-fitting suit bulged and tore until it burst like a balloon, shredding material everywhere. With an unearthly thrumming roar, Hermione watched arms and hands rearrange into furry legs and massive paws. The back paws, however, sported cloven hooves, and a sibilant hiss rose from behind the beast as a massive snake that gave Hermione dejavu rose to stare at her threateningly. 

 

The full horror of the situation began to wash over Hermione even as she found the word on her lips. 

 

“Manticore.” 

 

When Snape looked up, his eyes had gone from black to gold, the slitted pupils blowing wide as he sniffed the air, his eyes zeroing in on Hermione’s location. Hermione had futilely tried to hide behind the bed, hoping he wouldn’t see her, but as she rolled under the bed cursing her aching back, she could hear the sound of the weight of the manticore’s front paws on the mattress above her as he leapt up to explore. Hermione could see the snake tail waving back and forth on the side of the bed closest to the open door, and she knew that she was trapped unless she was willing to take a chance and run for it.

 

All species of manticores, she knew, were poisonous. From their saliva to their tail venom, they were absolutely deadly from the moment they were born. Some even said that their claws were tipped with poison, though Hermione was fairly certain that it was more due to the manticore’s grooming habits than venom-secreting claws.

 

Snape had turned into a very rare sort of manticore, though.  The snake tail was generally a trait of a chimera, but there were no other heads attached to the body of the beast, and Hermione could tell that the snake was no ordinary viper, but eerily similar to the monster that had torn out his throat and burned his blood with venom.

 

Still, she had to try.

 

The creature above her let out a strange thrumming purr and she could see a large paw touch down on the floor where she’d crouched only moments before. She rolled as hard as she could out from under the bed, her eye on the door. She could feel the snake hissing in her ears and the sound of it striking as she rolled and tried to pull herself up towards the door. Just before she hit the wall, she rolled on top of something very hard and uncomfortable.  _ Snape’s wand _ . She grabbed it, her hand shaking as she saw that those haunting golden eyes were watching her with predatory interest from the bed. Though her body screamed at her to stop and her feet were bare, Hermione picked herself up and tore through the door, slamming it behind her just as the beast pounced and slammed against the door.

 

Hermione pointed the wand at the door and tried to cast a fortifying ward onto the wood, which had begun to vibrate with the repeated impact of the manticore’s body.  It sputtered to life and cooperated after two or three tries, but Hermione was not happy with it. 

 

‘My wand would have done it better…’ she thought back to the pieces of wood Snape had shown her and shook her head. She needed to be strong and preferably find a safer place to hole up until the storm passed. Hermione lit the tip of Snape’s wand and began to walk down the hallway.  Most of the rooms she looked into were heavily neglected and full of dust. It was creepy to walk through the dark with so many doors on either side of her, but the majority of the wing outside of her room was devoid of human or magical life.  Even the portraits had been removed; Hermione could see discolored rectangular spaces on the walls where something had once hung.  Hermione wondered if they’d been magical talking portraits, and nearly wished she had Phineas Nigellus’ portrait to talk to.  It would have made the whole thing much less lonely, even if a painted person wasn’t  _ really _ real.

 

Hermione paused at this thought- it had been awhile since she’d been able to admit to herself that it would be nice to have companionship.  Though she’d always worked alone in the years after Ron’s death, it had never bothered her. Now, though...she looked down at her nightgown and bare feet and cursed her vulnerability.  Even Snape’s wand wasn’t much help. It kept fighting her whenever she tried to use it, but she wondered if part of that fight wasn’t her own reticence to use it. 

 

“After all, this wand was used to kill,” Hermione said softly to herself, wincing when the last word echoed down the hallway.

 

She’d killed too, though. And though Luna had always told her that all magical creatures had as much a right to live as a human being, Hermione had never really thought of it much. Her anger and the danger they posed was enough for her to take a job and finish it. Even the werewolves she’d hunted and shot through the heart with silver arrowheads had been killing sheep and endangering children’s lives, and she’d had no thought to their humanity while their teeth were snapping at her heels.

 

Hermione heard a crash as as heavy wood splintered down the hall, and she quickened her pace, her determination to find an exit renewed by the thick chuffing of the beast that had become of Severus Snape.

 

Hermione was running down a long set of stairs when she saw Mimi dusting the bannister and singing a cheerful tune.

 

“Mimi!” Hermione hissed. “We have to get out of here! He’s...he...transformed…he’s coming for us…”

 

Mimi looked frightened for just a moment at the sight of Hermione and immediately dropped her duster, running down the stairs. It took Hermione a moment to realize that the girl wasn’t running  _ with _ her, but  _ away _ from her, and Hermione once again berated herself for being so harsh on Mimi when the girl had only been trying to help.

 

It was then that she remembered Snape’s words before the transformation had taken hold.  Had he saved them from the snow? Mimi...then...and...Charlotte...too….she shook her head as a crash at the top of the stairs turned her eye backward. The manticore’s glowing eyes were fixed on her form, and Hermione choked back a sob as she continued towards the swinging double doors that MImi had run through. Hermione pushed through the doors and into a darkened kitchen. With its tall, high windows and the sheer size of it, Hermione felt a stab of deja vu. Though it wasn’t nearly as huge as the kitchens at Hogwarts, the setup was very similar. It was obvious that it had been made for beings the size of house elves.

 

Hermione turned as another door slammed on the far left side of the room, and she nearly tripped over a cart that had been set in the middle of the floor in the gloom.  Snape’s wand, which had been her only light, slipped from her grasp and she grabbed out for anything to steady herself, grabbing the corner of what seemed to be a table as she watched the glowing tip of his wand fading as it spun across the floor.  Getting down on her hands and knees, Hermione groped around in the darkness, doing her best to feel for the wand.  She finally grasped the tip of it; it was still hot from having been lit. She shook her hand back and forth and hoped that it hadn’t left a burn before grasping the proper end and lighting the tip once more.  She’d made it halfway through the room when the doors burst open and the manticore stormed in with its nose twitching with her scent. It began knocking over plates and pans in a terrible cacophony as it tried to reach her in a space that had obviously not been designed for manticores. Hermione had to cover her ears at the terrible noise, but she continued onward, using wand-light to get to the next door, which was made of some sort of dark metal with rivets and a rather formidable-looking knob

 

There was a moment of panic as she tried to open the door and realized it had been locked. Then, she remembered that she had a wand.

 

“Alohomora!” she shouted, trying to keep her voice from shaking as the noise of the manticore’s progress grew louder behind her. 

 

The door did not budge.

 

“Mimi!” she screamed, banging on the door. “Please! Let me in! He’s going to kill me!”

 

“Go away.”  It was not Mimi’s voice. 

 

“Charlotte! Please!” Hermione’s voice was tinged with hysteria as she realized that the silent girl had finally spoken. 

 

“ _ He _ saved us from them. We were just fine before  _ you _ had to show up,” Charlotte said bitterly.

 

“This is not just fine!” Hermione screamed back, feeling the musky heat of the beast’s breath curling the hairs on her head. “He’s turned into a monster and-!”

 

She turned around, her back flat against the door just in time to see the manticore staring down at her, his golden eyes fixated upon her as the snake tail swished from side to side behind him, hissing but out of reach.

 

Hermione tried to cast a stunner on the creature, but Snape’s wand sputtered and let out a few pathetic sparks, seemingly unable to betray its master, even while he was in such an inhuman form. Rather than appearing angry, the manticore let out a strange thrumming purr and advanced upon Hermione. The pungent odor of its breath was overwhelming and full of the acidic tinge of poison.

 

Hermione only had a moment to realize how ironic it was to die the same way that Ron had. The thought made her feel oddly calm. She stared at the beast, her gaze steady even though her legs shook. He stood only inches away from her, thick puffs of his breath pouring over her in waves.  She could feel herself losing consciousness almost immediately and sank down to the floor gasping and sputtering horribly. She felt the gentle impression of teeth on her shoulder as the creature picked her up and began to drag her away.

 

Before she blacked out, her very last thought was a memory of a man choking on his blood and dying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack with no one to mourn him or even search for his body in the ash that had been left of the building after fire had consumed it. 

 

No, they’d be  _ happy _ that she was dead, she reasoned. It would be a relief to everyone, even, perhaps, herself.   



	5. The Newness of Feeling

Hermione opened her eyes slowly, mostly due to the fact that her head felt as though it were splitting in two.  Her vision swum in front of her and she blinked several times to try and clear her head. Someone was snoring and Hermione couldn't help but feel annoyed at how the sound was doing nothing for her horrid headache.

 

She couldn't recall what she'd been doing before falling asleep, but whatever it had been, it had obviously taken a lot out of her. And why was she so bloody warm?!

 

“Oof!” Something heavy and furry pressed against her belly and Hermione’s eyes went wide as she turned her head and stared into the furry leonine face of a sleeping manticore. 

 

‘No. not just  _ a _ manticore. Professor Snape’s in there somewhere,’ she thought, clamping her mouth shut. 

 

Her memory began to come back to her in fits and spurts. She was almost certain that he’d  _ bitten _ her. Why, then, was she still alive? For a moment, Hermione felt almost disappointed. She should be dead, and yet here she was, in the land of the living.  It almost seemed unfair.

 

There was very little light shining through the tall, high windows above what appeared to be a very cozy, manticore-shaped nest. The walls were draped with sashes that had been twisted and moved around in a rather haphazard fashion. From the generous number of teeth marks in the fabric, Hermione could tell that Snape had done so while in manticore form. The smaller, rounded walls of the room itself made Hermione think of a tower, which made a lot of sense since she’d already surmised that she was inside of a castle.

 

All manner of pillows and mattresses and textiles from tablecloths to bedsheets had been strewn about on the floor by paws and teeth and hooves until the entire room resembled a huge, messy bed. Which, Hermione supposed, it was. 

 

A quick glance toward the gaping hole in the door eaten away by caustic saliva and sheer brute strength made her heart leap with momentary hope of escape, but then she realized she still had to deal with the hundred or so pounds of manticore paw that was pinning her down into the soft layers below her.

 

She looked around for something to pry it off of her and then attempted to wiggle down into the pile of bedclothes with little success. Just as she was about to give up trying for stealth and simply yank his mane until he awoke, a strange hissing noise cut through the silence. 

 

Hermione watched with shock as the body of the Manticore blurred and slowly receded into the air, leaving a very thin and very naked sleeping Snape with an arm around Hermione. When she looked up, though, she nearly gasped. Greenish-black smoke shaped like the Dark Mark hovered over them, a smoky snake curling out of an equally smoky skull.  After a short time, it seemed to lose its shape and began to sink at an alarming speed, much of it blasting into Hermione's face. She gagged and tried to cover her eyes, but the smoke found its way inside her ears and nose as well like a living thing. She could feel it pouring down her throat and filling her belly until she felt like she would burst. 

  
Her body throbbed with a strange, almost ticklish sensation for a few moments before dissipating again. 

 

Hermione looked down at her body, her breathing erratic with dread. Would she become a monster too?  Would the unknown substance kill her? As the minutes ticked on and Hermione found herself still very much alive, she found herself staring at Snape’s emaciated body. He would never be muscular despite the bulk he gained while transformed, that much was evident. His wiry frame and many silvery scars accentuated this fact, and Hermione realized that much of the paunch she’d perceived earlier had been more due to his ill-fitting clothing and the proximity to his transformation than anything else. He was still very thin and looked rather underfed by the pinched look to his cheeks and the dark rings under his eyes. Though she’d never be a Molly Weasley, she found herself wanting to provide him with a personal feast worth of food

 

Still, she wondered how he’d found himself with such an “illness.”  She’d watch Nagini tear out his throat and the silvery scar under his prominent Adam’s Apple was proof that it had been as dire as it had seemed. Though the scar had lightened over time, Hermione could still see where the frayed edges of flesh had hung, shredded and imbued with deadly venom. It was not a beautiful mark, but somehow it made Hermione feel an intimate sense of empathy and she wondered how he’d survived against all odds.  With that thought, though, a sense of guilt filled her as she remembered just how grateful she’d been to leave the Shack without checking on him. She’d taken Harry at his word, and though she knew now that Snape had survived, the thought that she had failed to do something... _ anything _ ...was nearly too much to bear.  

 

Hermione was so focused on these morbid thoughts, that she nearly quite forgot that she was being semi-snuggled by a naked man until he began to stir against her.

 

“Mhmmmmmmm?” Hermione felt Snape's thin arms pull her closer to him and he smiled in his sleep. “Showwwwarm,” he slurred, and Hermione was so surprised to see the grin that spread across his face that she didn't pull away. A strange sensation filled her belly, but it had been such a long time since last she’d experienced it that she dismissed the butterflies in her stomach as a lingering side effect of the smoke that had filled her body earlier. 

 

“Wake up, er, please...sir?” Hermione asked, shaking his shoulder gently. 

 

Snape yawned wide, giving Hermione a face full of morning breath with a hint of manticore, and opened his eyes slowly. 

 

“Hrm?” He said foggily, his eyes suddenly going wide and his body tensing as he seemed to realize that the very disheveled Hermione in his arms was real. His eyebrows hit his hairline with surprise, and he froze, staring at her bug-eyed.  Then he looked down at the uncovered bits of him that were pressing into Hermione's thigh and let out a scream that shook the room. He scrambled backwards as though he’d been burned by Hermione’s skin and hastily grasped a pillow to put in front of his bits.

 

“Uh...hi?” Hermione said awkwardly. Though she understood his shock to some extent, she was a bit irritated at his extreme reaction to finding himself in close proximity to her. She crossed her arms and smirked, finding the image of an uncharacteristically panicked Snape rather amusing. “And here I was, thinking that I was the one who was supposed to be the one screaming at waking up next to a naked man.”

 

“You...but...wha... _ how _ ?!” Snape gestured wildly and then froze, covering his face with one hand for a long moment. He slid his hand down his face slowly, looking up at her with an unamused expression. “I was a manticore again, wasn’t I?” he asked, deadpan.

 

“Yeah,” Hermione replied, because she didn’t really know what else to say to that.

 

“And...I apparently brought you here...as a manticore…” Snape’s face was scarlet with embarrassment.

 

“You bit me, too,” Hermione said, pointing at her shoulder. The fabric was torn, but not completely shredded. Oddly enough, as she ran her fingers against the damaged fabric, she couldn’t feel the telltale wetness of blood soaking into the fabric or accompanying pain associated with a bite wound from a deadly monster.

 

“If that’s true, you should be dead!” Snape exclaimed, his expression growing suspicious.

 

“I got better, apparently,” Hermione replied with a shrug. After being chased and nearly mauled by a manticore, Snape’s fierce demeanor wasn’t the least bit intimidating.

 

“Wait...did you…” Snape had stomped over, the pillow still held in place over his nudity as he examined her shoulder with his free hand. “Did you see me transform?”

 

“Which time?” Hermione asked, unimpressed. “The time where you transformed and chased me out from under my sickbed or when I woke up to find I was being used as a stuffed animal for a giant, napping, murderous beast only to be choked by what I can only imagine is some sort of Death Eater gas?”

 

Snape suddenly had a strange, panicked look on his face, as he pulled back the fabric of her nightshirt, tearing it in his haste.

 

“Hey! What was that f-?!” Hermione froze, looking at her shoulder.  Her eyes widened as she saw what he was pointing at. Her veins glowed green under her skin; the same color as the smoke that had poured down her throat.

 

“There’s not much time to explain...I only get a short time in my...normal form, and there’s only so much I’ve been able to figure out so far,” Snape was checking his own arm, now, but Hermione couldn’t see anything different about it. “Once your veins start to glow green, the change has already begun.”

 

“What?!” Hermione’s eyes widened with dawning horror. “You mean that I’m going to turn into...one of those things?!”

 

“It’s not like I asked to be sick or for you to somehow catch it!” Snape hissed back, still looking at himself for signs of the change. “You can thank Nagini for that, may her soul burn in hell! The Malfoys’ doctor said I healed so quickly after they brought me to him. I should have known it was too good to be true!”

 

“You mean you’ve been researching how to fix it? How were you able to buy this place to begin with if you’re constantly turning into a monster?” Hermione thought back to Mimi and Charlotte. Were they helping Snape?

 

“The change has been getting worse. I’m spending more and more time...as a monster.” Snape growled.

 

She looked down at the back of her hand and could see a nearly perfect outline of her veins lighting up under her skin. 

  
“N...no, I….” Hermione shook her hands, as though this would stop it from snaking through her veins.

 

She froze as she felt a strange tickling sensation on her neck and she turned her head to find that Snape was sniffing her neck, his expression intense.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Snape jumped back with a growl that sounded a bit less than human.

 

“Why do you smell so good?” he hissed back, his fingers digging into the pillow as though trying to keep it in his hand. “It’s not as potent as it was a week ago but your scent is  _ maddening _ .”

 

Hermione stared at his almost-feral expression, her eyes traveling down to see the scars of varying sizes that wove the length of his naked body. Oddly enough, he didn’t seem to mind her continued gaze as he had before, meeting her eyes with the steady darkness of his own. She could not say what drew her to him, but she could also not deny the truth of the strange throb that grew in her chest. She’d been so empty for so long. 

 

So  _ numb _ .

 

Hermione let out a soft noise almost like a sigh as his fingers nearly brushed against her skin. Her arm prickled, raising goosebumps, and she shivered.  She practically hummed with the desire to feel it He was so close to her, suddenly, and though neither of them spoke, it was obvious that there was silent sense of urgency and an unexplained need filling the room. The beast struggled under her skin, wanting nothing more than to break free. It was alarming to see a light layer of fur growing on the back of her hand and down the length of her arm, but what was most alarming was the fact that she didn’t mind it one bit.

 

It wasn’t the cold, numb way she was used to things not mattering, that was for sure.

 

She sniffed the air cautiously. Snape,who seemed strangely unconcerned about his lack of clothing as she approached, stood unearthly still, his eyes locked on hers.  At first she thought she was imagining it, but as she turned her head, she could smell a strange, earthy scent that made her momentarily feel as though she wanted to roll around on the ground like a dog. Actually, as she thought about it, she’d prefer to roll  _ on _ him, if she was being honest. Snape was sniffing her neck again, his expression helpless, as though he was drawn to do it especially now that she was so close to him.

 

Hermione could feel the shift coming before it hit her, but she still wasn’t ready for it when it finally came. She fell against Snape with a sharp cry of pain. In return, Snape let out a guttural moan in the back of his throat as his lips brushed against her neck due to her sudden movement. His arms shot out to steady her as she began to feel the monster awaken in her veins.

 

“Please,” she whispered, before screaming at the sensation of her body abruptly rearranging and enlarging to an unnatural shape all at once. 

 

As her mind went blank with the change and her clothing tore to pieces around her new body, she could hear him whispering “I’m so sorry...so sorry…” over and over again into her ear, his touch never leaving her.


	6. Not Quite A Monster

Severus stared as the great beast stilled against him and rose, her large, amber eyes gazing down at him with a sense of intelligence that told him that she was no mere monster. Her fur was a silver color that nearly seemed to reflect the muted light in the room, though her back haunches, which ended in cloven hooves, were more of a frosted chestnut brown. Her tail was short, and two small, batlike wings twitched and extended from her back. They weren't quite large enough to look flight-worthy, but she could obviously control them enough to flap them absentmindedly. She yawned wide, exposing long, dagger-like teeth glistening with saliva. Severus held his breath as his heart twinged in his chest.

 

She was _magnificent_.

 

He had to force himself to glance out the window as the moments passed, certain that he should feel the change as well, and yet, he still did not feel the transformation take hold of him. He stared at his hand, expecting to see the green glow in his veins, but if it had been there at all, it had vanished. Oddly enough, he felt almost disappointed...which was odd, really, because he hated being unable to control his body fully. He hated the lack of control and his deference to the manticore’s whims and emotions.  

 

He’d only found Hermione because the beast had wanted to run through the woods even though Severus hated the cold and the snow, and so they had. He’d picked up the scent of her blood; a scent that was somehow familiar and most certainly human. Her twists of silver hair shone in the light of the meager sun like a beacon and he was at her side in a heartbeat. His mind had come back to him- he knew she was close to death, and rather than eat her like any manticore would at the sight of blood and bone and struggling, he’d hoisted her over his shoulders and brought her home to his lair.

 

Ugh. _Lair_. It sounded like something out of a ten-cent pulp horror novel, but it was the best way he could describe the old castle he’d purchased for so little out in the middle of nowhere with only a small village nearby. He’d wanted his solitude, but it had cost him. Though Mimi and Charlotte were constant sources of anxiety, he was thankful for them as well. Charlotte kept to herself, her face always in a book, and Severus marveled at how quickly she learned, even though she shied away from physical contact from everyone. She had made exceptions for Mimi a few times, but it was begrudging, and Severus could tell that it put her on edge. He also had no idea why Mimi wanted to dress up in the clothing she’d found in the servant’s quarters, or why she incessantly went around cleaning the impossibly large space, but he did have to admit that it looked better than it had before, and the rooms she’d cleaned in the east wing had come in handy when Hermione had been brought in out of the cold.

 

 _Hermione_ ...he shook his head. No...it would not do to get emotionally attached. A tiny voice in the back of his head whispered _Too late_ , and he tried to dismiss it, but he knew he couldn’t keep lying to himself.  He’d read about the accident when it had happened, of course. He knew of her loss, though he’d ignored half of the venomous things that Skeeter had written about Hermione while she was recovering. He’d never liked Ron Weasley much- the boy had been an arrogant slacker in his classes and had a temper that uncomfortably reminded Severus far too much of his own when it was not under control- but that didn’t mean the man had deserved to die. Weasley had certainly deserved to live far more than a hated Potions professor and well-known Death Eater, such as himself. It was yet another reminder that life was, as usually, not fair. And, regardless of Rita Skeeter’s nasty suggestion that Hermione had gotten an abortion soon after because she “couldn’t handle motherhood by herself,” Severus had not joined the groups of outraged witches and wizards to condemn her, especially after she immediately quit her job at the Auror’s office and went freelance. To many, that was a clear sign that Hermione felt guilt about her actions, or at the very least knew that the Ministry would likely sack her after the public outrage reached a fever pitch.  Severus found the entire thing distasteful. Regardless of what had happened, it was her body, and she should be allowed to make whatever decision she wished regarding it.

 

He’d assumed that she’d want to survive, though, when she’d lain broken and bleeding on the duvet, her toes and fingers growing blue with frostbite. He’d transformed back by that time, barely taking the time to throw a robe on his naked body before rushing to grab the potions he needed and the wand he’d stored in the cabinet the moment the he began to feel the change coming.  He’d poured potions down her throat and injected tinctures under her skin so that they would time-release and heal her, even if he was indisposed to be there.  The simpler work he gave to Charlotte and Mimi, who could be trusted with easy dosages of foul-tasting throat syrup and the herbal skin salves to minimize the scarring so that Hermione would be able to move her arms and legs without nearly as much pain or discomfort, for scars tended to be a bit less flexible than unblemished skin.  Anything to get her back to some semblance of normal, though at first, he hadn’t recognized her. He’d merely seen injuries in need of treatment, much like he’d been unable to tear his eyes away from Dumbledore’s withered hand to notice the man’s tired smile and knowing resignation about it. His heart had leapt with some undefinable emotion when Mimi had told him her name, not that he’d ever admit it to anyone.

 

He should have known that there would be nothing ordinary about her stay, about _who_ she really was.

 

Hermione made a chirping noise and began rubbing her head against his back, which forced him to steady himself.  He halfway expected her to bite him in retaliation for what he’d done before, after all, though her eyes belied human intelligence, Severus knew that the manticore’s mind would also hold sway over her body as well. His mind was not fully his own while he was transformed, which was why he'd caused plenty of damage while transformed, especially if the manticore part of his mind reacted to a particularly strong scent or sound of prey. Usually, as soon as he could get his wand back, he could magically repair everything, but with the transformation lasting longer and longer as time went on, Severus had not had the luxury to do so lately.

 

Charlotte’s studies with arithmancy, a subject which the girl had a natural talent for despite being a squib, had suggested that his transformations were tied to the length of the day, and would get shorter now that they’d finally passed the winter solstice, but Severus was dubious about that thought. It was why he had been unable to do any brewing or experimentation for the past month. And now, even though the light outside was bright enough to make him squint as he stared up at them, he could not feel even the faintest stirrings of the beast within him.

 

He took a sharp breath as Hermione chirruped, her eyes golden just as his were while transformed.  She made some strange noises and then tried to point to her muzzle with a questioning, squeaky mew. It seemed that she did indeed still have her mind, even though her body had changed to an extreme degree

 

“You can’t speak in human language in that form,” Severus said exasperatedly, still wondering if he should wait to see if he would transform as well, or if he should try and backtrack to find his wand and some clothing. After all, it was getting a bit drafty in his current state. “Didn’t you get an Outstanding in _Care of Magical Creatures_?”

 

Also, he’d learned from personal experience, but there was no way in hell he was telling her that.

 

Hermione snorted and Severus couldn’t help but chuckle at the markedly annoyed look on her face. He’d never seen a disgruntled manticore before, and was fairly certain that usually, if one were to see such a thing, it would be the last thing they saw in their life.

 

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting a bit cold, and seeing as I don’t have a fur coat like you do, I’d like to go and throw something on over my carcass,” Severus said, finally, deciding that he’d waited long enough.  He could just go and grab another horrible, too-small, dusty suit that he wouldn’t mind destroying from one of the old bureaus in the castle and cram his body into it until he transformed again.  

 

Hermione made a strange thrumming noise and began to follow him.

 

“Oh no you don’t!” he said, turning around and waving his hands in her face to stop her. “I can’t be followed around by a godawful giant... _thing_!”

 

Hermione responded to this by pouncing onto him and proceeded to give him a tongue bath.  Severus was not sure if this had been intended as some sort of twisted punishment, or if the manticore was starting to take control of her, but either way, he found himself pinned down as Hermione rumbled against him with a pleasurable purr.

 

“Gwahhhhh! Stop it! Mrfffff!” Severus was momentarily alarmed that he was about to be eaten or poisoned, but relaxed when he realized that she was being very careful not to use her teeth or claws and her breath did not hold the telltale acrid smell of poison.

 

As she moved on to groom his shoulder, stopping from time to time to scent mark him like an overgrown cat, he crossed his arms and scowled up at her.

 

“Kindly unhand me!” he growled, but his voice held no malice. He felt an acute sense of guilt due to the fact that he was responsible for Hermione's current predicament.  The least he could do was endure her manticore-handling. Though there was the rather unfortunate fact that he was still completely unclothed, and, as he registered the bits of tattered night dress strewn around them, he realized that Hermione was technically naked as well- a thought that was unspeakably awkward and brought a blazing flush to his cheeks. Hermione stepped back, purring, to observe her somewhat soggy handiwork and Severus was glad that she'd only bathed the top half of him due to having the rest of his body pinned underneath her. Though he was human, he could still smell a faint hint of the maddening scent that had filled his manticore nose only a week earlier. It was a scent, he was realizing, that seemed to belong to Hermione and Hermione alone.

 

Severus knew both Charlotte and Mimi’s scents by heart, but while both were unique, neither was even close to being as remarkably alluring as Hermione’s scent.  He shook his head and admonished himself silently.  When had he begun to think of her by her first name? She was…. _no_...she hadn’t been his student for many years, and he had not been her teacher for just as long. Her silver hair and the fine lines on her face were reminders that she was no schoolgirl, despite his lingering memories of a bushy girl with buck teeth who’d barely came to his waist with the other first year students.

 

 _And she smells so good._  The thought rose, unbidden, in his mind like a burst of flame, and he had to clamp the other thoughts that rose with it, lest his body betray him with its infernal response.

 

He pulled himself up to his feet and took a few steps towards the ruined door.

 

“Mrr?” Hermione questioned, looking at him with her soulful eyes.

 

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, scowling in thought. Finally he turned and nodded.

 

“You can come, but you must behave!” he barked, trying to regain his composure.

  
Hermione head-bumped him in the shoulder and followed, purring all the while.


	7. A Potions Master and a Manticore Walk into a Kitchen…

Backtracking his movements was rather easy, as it turned out. Severus found his wand under a bunch of pots in the kitchen and used it to conjure up a set of rough-looking robes from one of the kitchen drapes because he was shivering and barefoot in the cold, stone room despite the fact that Hermione was standing beside him like a large, furry furnace. The wand was no worse for wear, but Severus could smell Hermione’s scent all over it.

 

“You used my wand, didn’t you?” He said suspiciously, turning to look at her with an arched eyebrow.

 

Hermione gave him the best version of a shrug that her manticore body was capable of making in reply.

 

Severus opened his mouth to ask her another question but before he could, he was hug-tackled by Mimi, who’d been in the middle of cleaning up the massive mess that he’d left. 

 

He was eminently glad that he’d at least had the wherewithal to make himself halfway decent before that point. 

 

“I am sorry that I made...such a mess,” Severus sighed, looking around the room and feeling horribly awkward as Mimi hugged him tightly.  She always did this when she saw him in human form, and had once even called him “Father,” which felt horribly awkward, especially considering what Severus had pieced together about her life before having been rescued from the frozen stump she’d been tied against in the forest.  For lack of a better term, he’d settled on “Professor,” even though he hadn’t taught in nearly a decade, but he could tell by how she said the honorific that she was saying it in the exact same tone as she’d called him her parent.

 

“It’s okay, Professor,” Mimi said with a happy smile, “I’m just glad to see you’re less fuzzy today.”

 

“I could change back at any time. You know that. Why aren’t you behind the charmed door with Charlotte?” Severus admonished, but his heart wasn’t in it to scold her.

 

“You never hurt me, Professor,” Mimi said, beaming, “You always know who I am, so it’s fine. You’ve even given me a horsy ride before.”

 

Severus stared at her in shock, his mouth opening slightly as he registered her words.

 

“What do you-” he started, but Mimi had gasped and pointed behind him.

 

“Who is she?” Mimi asked. “Is that….Hermione?”

 

Hermione made a loud thrumming noise and rolled onto her back, exposing her belly. Mimi made a squeaky noise of happiness and ran to her, petting Hermione with gusto.

 

“Wow!” Mimi exclaimed, pressing her ear to Hermione’s chest and feeling her breathe, “She’s so pretty!” 

 

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Severus spluttered, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, “Manticores do not adhere to beauty standards.”

 

The door behind him opened slowly and he turned to see Charlotte stepping through it cautiously. She looked up at him for a moment and then quickly cast her eyes at the floor when she realized he was looking back at her. Her mouth was drawn down in a bit of a scowl that Severus recognized as being very similar to one of his own. Charlotte had become a bit of a mimic when it came to him, which he secretly found endearing. Though Severus hated to consider that his treatment of either Charlotte or Mimi was remotely familial, he had grown to care for their well being, and was increasingly loath to attempt to send them back to their blood relatives. Whoever would tie them up in the snow like garbage to be thrown away did not deserve to raise a child at all. Charlotte scribbled in a notebook and then handed it to Severus with an unsteady look before staring at the ground again.

 

“Yes, Charlotte, the manticore there is, as you say,  _ that strange old lady _ ,” Severus replied with a sigh. 

 

Charlotte was tall for fifteen and she tended to be even more tactless than he was when she wasn’t being utterly silent.  He didn’t mind her tendency to flap her hands when she was excited or rock back and forth at inopportune times. He’d given her access to his books on arithmancy and she’d taken to it like a quidditch player to flying. She’d have probably forgotten to eat if it weren’t for Mimi, who dragged her to dinner more often than not. Severus had started her on some simple brewing, which had, surprisingly, gone well.  Charlotte didn’t have much in the way of magical aptitude or the use of a wand, at least according to what she’d told him about her upbringing, but she was able to devote all of her focus on the things that she enjoyed. The more methodical and logical, the better.

 

Charlotte wrote something else down on her notebook and he scowled as she handed it back to him for him to look at.

 

“No,” he said, his voice growing annoyed, “we are not throwing her out into the forest to fend for herself, especially not in the middle of a blizzard.”

 

Charlotte made an annoyed noise in the back of her throat and turned around, stomping off back to the lab that he’d constructed in the servant’s quarters. He’d felt more comfortable in the smaller rooms than the castle at large, and there were a number of heavy doors that were easily repurposed to keep himself from rampaging around in his lab when he transformed. Before his transformations had begun to last longer and longer, and long before he’d rescued the two girls from where they’d been tied in the woods by the townspeople, Severus had been overly optimistic that he’d be able to work through his “condition” by the first snow.  He’d made so much progress over the years, using a combination of his own research with a number of promising studies published around the world regarding spontaneous transformation.

 

But apparently it wasn’t enough.

 

Severus levitated some logs into the large fireplace near the back of the kitchens and ignited them with his wand.  He also transfigured a threadbare carpet into a large, somewhat plush cushion.

 

“There,” he said, as Hermione padded onto it and began to knead it with her forepaws like an oversized cat. “She’ll be fine while we work in the lab.”

 

At this, Hermione’s ears perked and she bounded over to him, bumping her head against his shoulder. “Mrrr?”

 

“Don’t you give me that,” Severus grumbled as Hermione looked up at him with soulful eyes. “I have no idea when I will be changing back, and in any case, you don’t want to be trapped like that forever, do you?”

 

“Mrrrr!” Hermione bumped his hand insistently.

 

“Fine.” Severus petted her behind the ears somewhat stiffly.

 

Hermione purred and rolled onto her back, looking up at him with her eyes half-lidded with pleasure as he gave her chin and neck scritches.  Despite himself, Severus found himself enjoying himself far more than he thought he should, especially given the circumstances. It was surprisingly peaceful to watch her purring under his touch, though a deeper part of himself felt the stirrings of something more complicated.  Before he could think much about it, however, Mimi brought a platter of cold cuts and left them near the fireplace. The sound of the tray clattering softly against the stone floor as Mimi set it down seemed to snap Severus out of his reverie and he gave Hermione’s head a pat before turning to leave.

 

“Mrr…” Hermione said, her ears flattening down with disappointment.

 

“I’ll be back, you insufferable creature,” Severus replied, his voice surprisingly soft.

 

Hermione seemed to accept this and lay down in front of the fire, her eyes flickering in the firelight as she watched the door shut slowly behind him.


	8. Waning Sun, Waxing Moon

Hermione yawned and stretched when the door opened once more.

 

“Mrrr!” She purred excitedly as Severus rushed out and raised a hasty ward on the door. He was shaking and pale, and she could see a glowing green line rising up the side of his neck. She bounded over to him and rubbed her face against him gently, savoring the rising, familiar scent of another of her kind. 

 

“You lazy girl-” he started playfully, before he suddenly let out a pained moan and stumbled forward, his hands instinctively flying out to try and grab hold of something,  _ anything _ .  He would have fallen hard on the unforgiving stone floor were it not for Hermione allowing him to grasp her fur to steady himself. 

 

Hermione tucked her large, leonine head around his shoulder and nuzzled his hand, which had gone a bit furry

 

“Prrrrip?” she asked, letting out a soft sympathy chirp. 

 

“I...I’ll...be....f..fine.” Severus held on for dear life until the pain seemed to subside, but he did not let go of her, choosing to bury his face in her thick, velvety fur and breathe her scent in deeply.  Hermione could feel his body relaxing as he breathed in time to the rise and fall of her own breath. 

 

Though Hermione was sure that this wasn't normal behavior as far as Severus was concerned, she also couldn't be bothered to care. All sense of propriety had neatly vanished from her mind in her manticore form. Manticores were creatures of transient emotion, and Hermione could feel the human part of herself relishing the purring satisfaction of a belly rub and the pleasure of a kip by the fire.  She enjoyed the playfulness of chasing her tail (damned short thing was always just out of reach- she almost wished hers was a long snake like Severus’ manticore form because it would be immensely fun to chomp on it, pain be damned).  There was just so much to enjoy without thinking about duty or honor, or long-lost loves.  There was only the scent of him- male and musky; the feeling of his thin fingers stroking her fur as he breathed heavily against her and found peace by her side.

 

It took her a long time to realize he was whispering something into her fur.

 

“...soon,” he whispered. 

 

Hermione shivered with anticipation.  His voice was so soft, but she could feel the vibration of the words against her skin and she thrummed with happiness and a growing sense of desire.

 

Odd, the noise sounded familiar. It wasn’t quite as throaty and deep as....oh.

 

_ OH _ .

 

Her human mind flashed back to a memory of her mother giving her one of those obviously ridiculous lectures of “boys beating down the door” in response to her appearance.  Hermione had always known that no boy would be willing to do such a thing, not for someone with wild bushy hair, teeth that belonged to a squirrel, and a ruthless obsession with being better than everyone at everything. Really, though, she’d always thought she’d be fine with that. After all, there was more to be said for a mutual interest in one another that develops over time, or in the frenzied feeling of a war pushing her into the arms of someone who provided even the merest hint of comfort and camaraderie and who she knew would never, ever leave her of his own accord.

 

Hermione wasn’t sure if manticores were unable to mope, but she was getting a pretty good idea that it wasn’t exactly easy. Instead, the manticore part of her brain decided that it was time to give Severus another tongue bath, and she soon lost herself in the physicality of pressing him down against the floor gently enough not to hurt him, but firmly enough to keep him from escaping.

 

There was no danger of that, though.  Severus lay there, looking up at her with an expression of utter trust that she’d not thought him capable of having, let alone sharing with  _ her _ .  She watched as his eyes went from black to gold, and his body shifted under her. He was surprisingly quiet this time as his body rearranged to that of a beast, and she only opened her eyes when her tongue met the resistance of thick, dark fur.  With a growl, he pushed back against her, rolling them over until he was above and she found herself pinned down.  His body was larger than hers when transformed and he immediately began to purr deeply as they rubbed faces and scent-marked one another. Of course, by this time, Hermione was purring as well, which was just as well, because purring felt  _ amazing _ , especially in tandem. Then,  _ he _ gave  _ her _ a tongue bath, which became quite a lot more awkward when she shifted back to human form a few minutes later.  Severus went on for quite some time with her hair before he stood back to admire his handiwork, and Hermione was far too busy trying to dry out her soggy hair to be embarrassed at her newfound nudity.  If anything, she was disappointed when she was no longer covered up with his warm, furry body.  In fact, as the beast watched her, she found that her main annoyance was that it was drafty in the kitchens, though the fire alleviated some of the chill. As she twisted her hair, divesting it of extra moisture, she noticed that the green, caustic saliva he’d had before had gone clear and was thankfully not burning her skin and hair. She wondered, idly, if that meant that her transformation had made her immune, or if something in her sharing the transformation had changed the concentration of poison in his various secretions. Hermione noticed that he’d shredded the transfigured curtain robes during his transformation, but she found herself curious about his snake tail.  After all, she didn’t have one while transformed, but she did have the wings, which should not have made any sense.

 

“Dumb Hermione,” she muttered to herself, hugging herself to keep the cold at bay. “It’s magic. It makes its own sense.”

 

Severus cocked his head to the side as Hermione shivered and then turned around, looking intently for something.  It was then that Hermione noticed that his Nagini-like snake tail was coiled up on his lower back, its eyes shut tightly in sleep.  He came back with his wand in his mouth like an oversized dog and set it at her feet before looking at her pointedly.

 

“Can I use it?” she asked, feeling stupid when he chirped back at her as though to say,  _ Why else would I have brought you my wand? _

 

Hermione turned to one of the pots that was sitting on one of the countertops. It was a bit rusty with age, but Hermione could work with it.

 

“Can I use this?” she asked.

 

Severus snorted at her and growled.

 

“Okay, okay, I won’t stand around like a dunderhead and get pneumonia. Are you happy, now?” Hermione snapped.

 

Severus gave her the manticore version of a glare and bumped her against the butt with his snout to push her towards it as though to say,  _ This millennium, please. _

 

“Eeeahhh!” Hermione shrieked. She hadn’t expected the sensation of a wet nose on her rear end.

 

She pointed the wand at the pot and closed her eyes, imagining exactly what she wanted to transfigure it into.  Cloth would be easier, but Hermione didn’t feel like running starkers across a dark, cold castle with a manticore in tow on the off chance of finding some musty clothing to cover herself with. Hermione would have considered changing into her animagus form, but she still didn’t trust Severus’ wand all that much, and knew that her transfiguration skills on inanimate objects were top notch.  Hermione lifted the wand as though she were about to start conducting an orchestra and felt her magic travel tentatively down the length of the wand from her fingertips. She didn’t want the wand to fight her again, and she was pleasantly surprised when the wand obeyed her immediately, channeling her power through its core.  

 

“Hmph,” she muttered to herself. “Dragon heartstring core, most likely.” 

 

She’d had a devil of a time with her own dragon heartstring wand in the beginning, which was why she’d practiced the first year spells for hours after her Sorting just to get it to behave. It helped that Severus had given it to her willingly, though.  She knew that wands often listened better if won from their owners, but they also listened better if they were willingly lent. Harry hadn’t ever had trouble using her wand while they’d been on the run for all of those months- the wand always deferred to its original owners wishes if possible, and would recognize a new master if it were treated with more care and resolve than its original owner.

 

Again,  _ magic _ . Not exactly logical, but it did have its rules and it kept them.

 

When Hermione opened her eyes, she was glad to see that the pot had transformed into the soft, fleecy robes she’d imagined in her mind.  They were still a silvery color with a strange brown pattern down one side that looked a bit like the rust spot on the original pot, but it would do, and it felt deliciously soft against her skin as she pulled it over her head.  It was only when she was clothed that she turned around and felt somewhat embarrassed that Severus’ golden eyes had been watching her, unblinking, the entire time. With a few extra enchantments on her new clothing, Hermione had made the change permanent and waterproofed the material just in case of future manticore tongue baths...which she wasn’t exactly dreading, to be entirely honest.

 

Severus rubbed against her side, purring and then grabbed her sleeve in his mouth, pulling her over to the door he’d come from earlier, headbutting her gently as though encouraging her to go in. Hermione stared at it dubiously.  

 

“There’s a ward on this door,” she said, inspecting it carefully.

 

“Mrr!” Severus purred, batting at her wand hand.

 

“Oh, that’s right!” Hermione said, her voice full of dawning realization. “Since you used your wand...it shouldn’t be hard to….”

 

She waved the wand in a practiced motion and the ward crumbled before her.

 

“Clever beast,” she said, turning and taking his furry head in her hands, stroking his mane gently. “Now, then, it’s your turn to go and nap by the fire.  I’ll see if I can get you something to eat. I bet you’d like for me to check your research notes, wouldn’t you? Though I never did receive my mastery in Potions, I have dabbled quite a bit and my line of work requires quite a bit of knowledge in that particular area as you can probably imagine.”

 

He looked into her eyes unblinkingly and for a moment she thought that she could feel something brushing against her mind like a gentle caress of an invisible hand. Though she couldn’t hear his voice, she had a vague feeling that he wanted to tell her something.

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back. Just like you promised me,” Hermione nuzzled his nose, wondering when she’d gone from a fierce monster killing machine to a monster snuggler, and then stood by the door and waited for Severus to pad back to the fireplace. He turned around with a big, toothy yawn and settled on the cushion by the fire, his eyes still on her as he placed his head on his paws.

 

And with that, Hermione pulled the door open and walked into the darkness beyond, wondering just what his laboratory had in store for her.


	9. Research

**Chapter 9: Research**

Hermione walked cautiously down the narrow stone passageway until the hallway widened to a rounded room which held a number of narrow doors that stood at equal distance from one another all the way around it.  In the middle, there was raised stone platform that shimmered with a bluish light. Inside, floated a tiny coiled creature, its eyes closed.  Hermione stepped closer to it, only to be distracted by a purple door to her right with a little hand painted sign.

 

“Mimi’s Room,” she read, smiling at the tiny white flowers that had been painted on the sign.

 

Her eye was drawn around the room and she noticed that another sign was written on the door next to Mimi’s room. “Charlotte's Room,” it read; the words were written in a very precise and developed script that was as different from Mimi’s as night and day.  Then she saw a plain, brown door marked “Laboratory.”

 

“But first, I’ll just take a look at that pedestal,” she said softly, turning back to look at it.  She’d nearly touched the light when a noise behind her made her turn.

 

“Are you an idiot?! Don’t touch that!”  The sharp voice came from Charlotte, who was standing next to her door with her arms crossed.  She was staring past Hermione as though she wasn’t even there, her eyes focused on the platform. “It belongs to Master Snape, you horrible, sneaking menace!”

 

“What are you talking about?” Hermione flinched away from the creature.

 

“Are you hard of hearing, or something, old woman?” Charlotte replied sharply. “I know what you’re doing. You’re going to take him when we’re so close to a cure...you’re going to k-kill him. You deserved to be eaten.”

 

Hermione went scarlet with anger, but did her best to hold it back. “I am not old,” she growled. “And I’m not going to k-”

 

“And why do you have Master Snape’s wand?!” Charlotte stomped forward, her face focused on it. “Not yours not yours not yours!”  

 

Hermione saw Charlotte’s hands shaking as she began to rock herself back and forth repeating the words.

 

“Charlotte, what is going-  _ Hermione _ !?” Mimi had opened her door and raced over to the rocking teenager, her face a mixture of concern and confusion.  She squeezed Charlotte around the middle tightly, which the girl resisted for a few moments before she quieted down considerably.

 

“Do you need more tight hugs?” Mimi asked, as Charlotte’s hands relaxed at her sides.

 

“More...tight hugs,” Charlotte murmured, wrapping her arms around Mimi’s smaller form.

 

Hermione stood awkwardly to the side, not sure what to do, so when Mimi finally turned her head and gave Hermione a scolding look, she instinctively took a step back.

 

“Now, I don’t normally get mad, especially at grown-ups, but you can’t be mean to Charlotte like that, you know,” Mimi said shaking her head. “She gets overwhelmed easily and then she needs tight hugs for a long time to calm down.”

 

“I...I didn’t know…” Hermione felt terrible.  Even though she was still wary of Charlotte, Mimi was still a friend, and Hermione still felt awful for pushing her so much that she’d grown afraid of Hermione. “I’m….I’m sorry.”

 

Mimi’s mouth turned up in a small smile. “There. Now, was that so difficult?”

 

“I’m not gonna apologize,” Charlotte pouted.

 

“Then no more tight hugs,” Mimi chided, sticking out her tongue.

 

“Hrmph... _ fine… _ .” Charlotte stared at the floor near Hermione’s feet with a pouty lip. “Sorry, then.”

 

She didn’t sound all that sorry, but Hermione wasn’t about to overlook her effort.

 

“It’s ok, we’re even now.” Hermione smiled awkwardly as both girls stared at her. “Er...anyway,  Severus asked me to help with...whatever he’s working on?”

 

“S...s….s….s…..” Charlotte sputtered.

 

“It’s okay, Charlotte. If the Professor wants her to call him that, she should be allowed to do so,” Mimi replied loftily.

 

“Hmph. How dare  _ she _ speak of the Master that way?” Charlotte scoffed.

 

“I knew him...when I was younger,” Hermione explained.

 

“Did you go to school together?” Mimi asked, looking excited. “I wanted to go to school but my... _old_ _mama_ said that I couldn’t.”

 

Hermione thought back to her first day in Potions class and smirked. “I suppose you could say that. He used to be my teacher, a long time ago.”

 

If Hermione had thought that Charlotte and Mimi were shocked before, she nearly burst out laughing when their mouths hung open in shock.

 

“That...that makes no sense,” Charlotte said, wiggling her fingers rapidly as though agitated.

 

“The Professor was like your father too?” Mimi asked, which made Hermione let out a bark of surprised laughter.

 

“He was...very different back then,” she said, finally. “He had an important mission, and so he didn’t have much patience for dunderheads.”

 

“He still doesn’t, either,” Charlotte said with a soft snicker.

 

“Are you his apprentice, then?” Hermione asked.

 

Charlotte turned her nose away. “He’s teaching me things, so he’s my Master.  He used to teach Mimi things too.”

 

“It’s hard to learn my lessons when he’s all...manticore-y,” Mimi said. “And Charlotte isn’t much of a teacher.”

 

“Blehhh,” Charlotte replied, theatrically sticking out her tongue. “You could still study out of the books. I do it all the time and I’m way ahead of anyone at Hogwarts.”

 

“I don’t wanna!” Mimi replied, sticking out her tongue in reply. “It’s hard when I get stuck on a word. Cooking and cleaning is easier. My old mama said it was all I was good for.”

 

Hermione was beginning to think that she needed to have a “talk” with Mimi’s “old mama.”  Preferably starting with the Bat Bogey Hex.

 

“It’s true that you’re very skilled in the kitchen, Mimi,” Hermione said gently, “but there’s a lot of things that you can develop skills in as well, like basketball, swimming, reading, and yes, even magic.”

 

“I haven’t done accidental magic yet and I’m already eight,” Mimi said, pouting. “I’m a Squarp.”

 

“It’s a Squib, Mimi,” Charlotte said, turning up her nose, “and Master says that I’m plenty good at Arithmancy even though they told me I’m supposed to be one too.”

 

“Charlotte is one fourth goblin,” Mimi said, somewhat shyly, as though she wasn’t sure if she should tell Hermione, “and her mum and dad hate how tall she is and how she can’t make the metal work for her the way they do.”

 

Charlotte bared her teeth, which were somewhat sharper at the tips than what was proper on a regular human being. “I don’t care! I like Arithmancy, and if Master says I’m good, then I’m good! I’ll never go back to those horrid people in their horrid hovel making horrid swords for horrid customers! I don’t care if they’re supposedly my flesh and blood!  Master promised! He promised he wouldn’t make me!”

 

Charlotte began rocking back and forth again and making strangled gasping noises in the back of her throat, and Mimi tightened her grip.

 

“Maybe we shouldn’t stand around in here while she’s upset like this,” Hermione suggested gently. “I need to go into the lab, though. Severus wanted me to see something in there, and I need to figure out what it is.”

 

“He doesn’t let me in the lab often, but Charlotte has access to the wards,” Mimi said, squeezing Charlotte tightly until the older girl began to relax again.  

 

“Yeah,” Charlotte said, as her shaking subsided, “even a Squib can help brew a potion.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with being a Squib,” Hermione said, trying to think of something positive. “One of my very good friends from school had a lot of trouble with his magic and his family even thought he was a squib until he was nearly out of elementary school, but in the end, he pulled the Sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat and killed the Dark Lord’s murderous snake.”

 

Hermione belatedly realized that this was perhaps not the appropriate sort of story to tell a young girl, but Mimi lit up with excitement.

 

“Do you mean it?” she asked. 

 

“Yes,” Hermione replied, “and there are plenty of things that a Squib can do in both magical and Muggle society.  Things that no one else can do.  Well-paid and satisfying careers that you don’t need a flashy wand or a book of incantations to do well at.”

 

Both Mimi and Charlotte looked somewhat mollified by Hermione’s words, and Charlotte finally stood and led them to the laboratory.

 

“You stay out, Mimi. Master won’t like it if you get into something you shouldn’t,” Charlotte said loftily.

 

“Hmph!” Mimi pouted, but she stayed outside. “I’ll just be in my room. I’m mending some things. If you need me, just knock twice. If I need you, I’ll knock twice too.”

 

Charlotte rolled her eyes but Hermione nodded and waved at the girl as the door swung shut.

 

Though the lighting was a bit low in the room, Hermione found it rather cosy. There was a tall shelving unit against one wall with various ingredients labeled and stored inside, as well as a table for chopping and a desk in one corner with a bunch of paper and books stacked all over the place in a manner that reminded Hermione of her own desk at home.  In the center of the room was a ring of what looked like electrical coils, each with a caldron boiling merrily on top of it.  Hermione thought she could see some sort of runic charms built into the coils, but she didn’t have a chance  

 

“Here’s the log book. You should start here.” Charlotte shoved a thick leather book into Hermione’s hands and then went around the middle brewing area, stirring potions and checking them before she strode off into a tiny little side room, where, Hermione supposed, she was working on Arithmancy.

 

Hermione sat down at the desk, being sure not to disturb any of the stacks that lay upon it, and opened the log book. Luckily, the desk had a small table lamp that was charmed to work with a quick  _ Lumos _ , which Hermione learned by picking up the lamp and reading the instructions glued to the underside of it.  

 

“This is dead useful,” she commented, “and much better than a silly old candle.”

 

She got to work, reading through the log, which seemed to start sometime at the beginning of the year.  According to the summary at the beginning of the journal, Severus had narrowed down the transforming agent in his blood, which had somehow interacted with the venom to create the monstrous manticore each day. There was a note about the increasing frequency of the transformation, which had originally started out as once a month during the full moon, and had begun to increase in duration over the past several years until he was forced to largely hermit himself away in the castle and only visit the village very rarely.

 

Hermione went through page after page of potions failures, many of which he’d tested rats or mice (if he could capture them) or on himself with varying results.  Hermione was astounded and amazed at his focus, but she knew that much of it was due to desperation, not simply scientific inquiry. As the year went on, there were a few passages that gave her the impression that he was beginning to despair, but Hermione noticed that they’d begun to lessen in length. Sometimes, there would be entire days worth of gaps, and there was one page that was so shaky that it was nearly impossible to read.  Finally, she reached the last page, which bore his distinctive spidery scrawl.  According to the notes, he’d written about her transformation, and how it had seemingly split the amount of time he was transformed (“will need more data,” he wrote, “before coming to a concrete conclusion that this is the case”).

 

There was also a note that made her smile almost involuntarily. “Hermione’s scent- aphrodisiac? Must brew Amortentia and compare.” She snorted, covering her mouth to keep Charlotte from hearing.

 

At the very bottom, she saw a note addressed to her:

 

“Hermione, if you are reading this, it means that Charlotte hasn’t been an unreasonable dunderhead and has let you into the laboratory. As you probably have read this entire book from cover to cover, I merely wish to reiterate that the potions currently brewing only need to be checked once every hour, on the hour, and that each will prompt the sounding of a tinkling bell and the coil will turn green to differentiate each of these. Charlotte, though surly and often difficult to speak to, is a veritable genius when it comes to theoretical Arithmancy and using it to bond runes to seemingly Muggle objects.  She is also incredibly knowledgeable about the potions we are brewing.  

 

“As you may already know, we are trying to derive the distilled venom of a purified basilisk pup (the translucent creature in sleeping stasis you likely saw in the other room, which was the only ventilated location away from the brewing room that we could spare), which the Dark Lord used in tandem with other ingredients and a spill to create the Dark Mark, and a variety of other ingredients that I have pared down over the past few years to create an antidote. The potions should all be a similar shade of bubblegum pink when they are finally boiled down to completion.  At midnight, there will be a few additions to the potions that will require precise timing and at least two people.  

 

“That’s where both you and Charlotte will come in. She has been briefed on the specifics, but I shall also include the instructions here. Once the potions have cooled, please pour and label each one. Be kind to Charlotte. She can be a bit of a dunderhead sometimes, but her heart is in the right place.  Both her and Mimi’s parents volunteered them as bait to draw me out, in a bid to get me to eat them and use it as a ploy to get me killed by a hunter such as yourself so they can quietly reclaim the land and castle that belongs to me.  As you can tell, that didn’t happen, but I can’t bear to send them back to the village after their families so cruelly threw them away.  Thank you, Hermione. I know I can trust you with this. Sincerely, Severus.”

 

Hermione looked away from the letter as Charlotte cleared her throat. “We have ten minutes before midnight strikes,” she said, handing Hermione an apron and turning to face the potion circle. “My Master has briefed me on what he wishes to be done. Come and take your place.”

 

Hermione nodded, putting up her hair with a ribbon she found in the pocket of the apron and tying the apron securely. “I’m ready,” she said, finally.

 

Charlotte handed her a wooden spoon and they both set to work.

* * *

 

Hermione was amazed at how focused and meticulous Charlotte could be in working on the potions, and it showed in the even, bubblegum pink color in each of her caldrons. Her chopping technique was second to none ( _ well _ , Hermione thought,  _ perhaps second to Severus _ , who had obviously taught her well). In fact, Hermione felt as though she was being just a bit outclassed, considering how rusty her potions making skills were. However, over time, she began to speed up in her ministrations and when Charlotte smiled ever-so-slightly at Hermione’s copied techniques, Hermione felt herself developing a growing sense of appreciation for the normally quiet, sullen girl.

 

Afterwards, Charlotte showed Hermione her Arithmancy project, which was in addition to her studies.  Hermione found herself incredibly impressed with the work and told Charlotte so, which seemed to make the girl very happy, indeed. Hermione had to admit that some of the Ancient Runes work was actively beyond her own pool of knowledge and she silently decided that she would have to start reading up on it as well, so that she could develop her own informed opinions on the subject. In fact, Hermione barely noticed when the first signs of her impending transformation began to make themselves known.

 

“Your skin….it’s green!” Charlotte pointed and Hermione let out a horrified squeak, stumbling backwards against the doorframe.

 

“I...have to go…” Hermione said, panic rising in her voice. She threw off her apron and grabbed the wand Severus had let her borrow before tearing through the door to the laboratory and running for the larger warded door to the kitchen. Hermione slammed the door behind her just as her hand began to throb and she could feel it going furry and paw-like.  She raised the wand and warded the door as Severus had done. It was odd that he had, though. After all, he’d not tried to get through the door, nor had she.  But, she reasoned, it wasn’t as though he could tell her in his current form.  

 

“Mrrr? Mrrr!” Severus immediately stood from his place at the fire and padded over with a marked spring in his step.  Hermione noted that his snake tail was still very much asleep. She wondered if this was possibly a side effect of one of his potions.

 

Hermione pressed her forehead against his and stroked him under his chin as he purred against her with pleasure.

 

“I did as you asked,” she said softly, smiling as he licked her cheek. “You were right, you know. Charlotte really isn’t as bad as I thought she was.”

 

Severus snorted and Hermione nearly wished he had an eyebrow to arch in this form, for he surely would be doing so.

 

“They’ve both had rough lives, haven’t they?” Hermione asked miserably. “And you...I didn’t understand the extent of your past transformations before.  It must have been very lonely in the castle all alone.”

 

“Mrrr,” Severus replied, scent marking her against her face.  He pushed her back playfully until she was nearly against the wall and Hermione felt her heart do a flip-flop.  A glance to her hand showed that the transformation had receded for the time being, and she stroked the fur on his neck gently as the rich, heady scent of him filled her nose.  

 

“Why do you smell so amazing?” she whispered, rubbing her face against his. “I...I want to...I want….”  She kissed his nose. “Like that, only...in matching forms...and not just on the nose.”

 

Severus responded by grabbing her by the scruff of her robes in his teeth and padding back over to the fireplace like an oversized cat with a prized mouse.

 

“Severus! I  _ can _ walk, you know!” Hermione laughed as he deposited her down on the soft manticore-sized cushion.  Then, he grabbed the hem of her robes with his teeth and began to pull up on it.  At first, Hermione thought that it was some sort of game, but then she realized that if she didn’t take them off, she’d rip through them and destroy them during her transformation.

 

“You just want to see me naked, don’t you?” she scolded him as she lifted them over her head and threw them over one of the chairs by the fireplace.  Of course, even with the fire, she found herself shivering, so she sat and hugged herself to retain some of her warmth.

 

He responded with a purr-growl and lay down on top of her, his fur warming her skin as he began grooming her with his tongue.

 

Hermione giggled and ran her fingers through his thick fur as he continued to lick her. She closed her eyes, feeling his rumbling purr vibrating against her body until she felt nearly boneless with relaxation.  It was heavenly, like a full body massage.  Hermione felt her long night catching up with her and yawned wide, feeling deliciously sleepy, even as something frantic fluttered in her chest at the thought that the position she found herself in was rather improper by all accounts.  

 

_ Don’t be silly, it’s not like he thinks of me like that _ , she thought, feeling slightly wistful at the thought of what it would be like if he did.

 

But then, his weight shifted and she realized that she was no longer being given a manticore tongue bath.  Opening her eyes sleepily, she could still feel his warmth, but it was somehow...diminished.

 

“Hmmmm, Severus, don’t stop,” she mumbled, grasping blindly for his furry mane and finding nothing but warm, soft skin instead.

 

“Are you sure that you mean that, Hermione?” His voice was deep and soft, almost a whisper.

 

Her eyes went wide and she stared up at his very human face, his dark eyes full of both disbelief and undisguised hunger. He caressed her cheek as he pressed his very naked body against her, seemingly waiting for her reply.

 

“Severus,” she whispered back, her voice filled with wonder.

 

“Did you mean it...what you said about my nose?”  Severus glanced away, his cheeks growing warm and pink.

 

Hermione didn’t answer.  But when he turned his face back to look at her, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him tightly against her, kissing his nose from base to tip and trailing down until she finally met his lips with her own.

 

It was perfection.   
  



	10. The Heart of the Matter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Sexytimes ahead! ;)

Hermione breathed him in- a hint of nutmeg, earthy musk, and shivered with anticipation. 

 

“Your hair is like spun starlight,” he whispered breathlessly against her neck, and she moaned in reply.

 

“Your scent...it’s maddening…” She nuzzled his nose and pressed her lips against him, savoring the taste of him in her mouth.

 

His kisses were soft, yet insistent, and she could feel her body roaring to life with arousal and desire. There had never been anyone after Ron had died- after she’d lost everything, including her ability to feel. But this...this was like a steady, undying flame slowly melting her icy heart. Though she couldn’t say how she knew it, a bond had begun to form between them the moment she’d caught his scent...and the moment he’d caught hers.

 

As he lay on top of her, he was gentle in exploring her body, not rough and handsy. It seemed almost as though he was perched on top of her; fighting between the urge to intensify their connection and the fear that made him want to pull away.

 

“Please,” she whispered back, cupping his face in her hands, “I want you to stay...if you want to, that is…”

 

“Nothing would make me happier,” he replied hoarsely.  His eyes were half-lidded and she was struck by how thick his eyelashes were at such close proximity.  No wonder why his eyes were so imposing. He nearly looked as though he had permanent eyeliner and mascara, though she could tell that it was nothing of the sort.  It was just... _ him _ .

 

She could feel his cock hardening against her leg; velvetine and quivering as his breaths grew heavier and heavier with exertion. He must have caught her eyes glancing downward, for he flushed scarlet and apologized immediately.

  
“I can s-”

 

“ _ No _ . No, I want this….I want  _ you… _ .”  Hermione hoped she sounded as adamant as she wanted to sound, despite the fluttering, frantic beat of her heart. “Look into my eyes...read my mind if you still doubt my honesty…”

 

At first, he looked at her somewhat shyly as though ashamed of being suspicious, of believing it too good to be true, but when she gave him an ardent look and kept her eyes open, he prodded gently with his Legilimency skills, his expression somewhat hooded for a long moment.

 

His eyes went wide for a moment, and a tiny cry escaped his lips as he wrapped his arms around her tightly, drawing even closer than before.

 

“I had never hoped...never dreamed…” His voice cracked and Hermione wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tightly.

 

“You can feel it, can’t you?” she asked, her lips against his ear.

 

He nodded. “Our manticores.  It feels…”

 

“...like they’re purring from deep within…” Hermione finished.

 

Their kisses became more feverish with need as they began their ministrations anew. Hermione’s nipples were hard and she gasped as they rubbed gently against his chest as they writhed together.  Soon enough, his fingers found them and gently massaged the soft pink points of flesh in such a way that she bit her lip and threw her head back, her eyes rolling back into her head when he began licking and sucking on them in a way that made her wonder if he’d ever practiced this heavenly technique before.

  
But before she could think much more about that, his lips were pressing hot kisses against her chest, up past her heart and neck until they were at her ear.

 

“I...please...I cannot hold myself back for long...please...please tell me…” his voice was no longer the carefully controlled drawl or the snarling sneer. It was undone and full of rawness that Hermione wanted to protect to her dying breath.

 

She raised her legs up, rubbing the head of his cock against her thigh and savoring the sharp moan of pleasure this elicited. His hips began to move against her, grinding gently as she pushed back, the pressure enough for her to get a good idea of his size without having seen much of it due to the angle she was at, while his eyes were half-lidded with a dreamy, faraway look.

 

“More,” Hermione demanded softly, wiggling her hips and smirking when she could feel the heat of him near her labia.

 

He stilled and stared, wide-eyed into her eyes. 

 

“ _ More _ ?” He asked, his voice breaking.

 

“Yes,” she replied, wiggling a bit more until she could feel him centered over the entrance to her core, “please.”

 

That final  _ please _ seemed to undo the remaining bit of resolve that he had left to himself and he groaned, grinding gently at first and then slowly pushing down until he was buried all the way to the hilt, the both of them pressed firmly against one another, their breathing labored from the pleasure of their position.

 

And then, slowly, he began to move within her, drawing out a stream of words that seemed nearly nonsensical from Hermione’s lips as she felt something light up deep inside of her core, so deeply buried that she thought she’d never feel it again in her lifetime.

 

A pulse of magic radiated out from her heart like a ripples in water. Hermione could feel it slowly growing wider and filling her with a sense of indescribable pleasure that made her body sing with power and completion. Severus moved above her, his eyes wide and always upon hers. She could hear his gasp as her magic hit him like a shockwave, and soon after, she could feel waves of a warm, familiar heat bathing her in its pleasure-filled glow. It was his magic echoing from the core of his body in reply.  They shuddered together, crying out as they both reached their respective limits, their bodies rocked with simultaneous orgasm, only to be caught in a loop of magical pleasure that echoed the physical until they were unable to handle it any longer and collapsed in a sweaty heap onto the cushion by the hearth, their bodies slick with sweat as magic echoed out weakly from where they lay before drawing back inside of them again.

 

Hermione kissed Severus softly as he lay on top of her, his head resting heavily against her shoulder. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply, the fingers on his right hand still entwined with the fingers on her left.  As she shifted her legs to a more comfortable position, Hermione knew she’d be a bit sore, but it was a happy sort of sore she’d welcome any day compared to the hollow numbness she’d known for so many years.

 

And then, she could feel her body humming with a different sort of power, one that had nothing to do with the carnal pleasure that was still fading slowly in the whole of her body.  This time, the transformation was gentler, as though she were slowly transitioning from human to beast.  Nothing contorted painfully, even as her body rearranged into furry paws and shaggy lion head.  The only thing that was uncomfortable was the fact that she was now lying on her back with her wings pinned under her, but she was able to scoot her shoulders enough to extend them flat and the discomfort was minimal after that.

 

The warm, thick fur of her underbelly must have been very soothing indeed, for Severus moaned softly in his sleep, snuggling his face into it before shifting to his side and curling up on top of her. It was funny, in his human form, he was tiny compared to Hermione, but she knew that his manticore form was larger than she was.  She wondered at the feeling of his weight, which had been so great only moments before, now so light and easy to take that he might have been a kitten dozing on her belly.

 

Hermione knew, somewhere in the back of her mind that she should wake Severus- he would be angry for wasting time here when he could be in the lab.  But she thought back to the wards, so hastily thrown up by him and mirrored by herself, lying to herself about why they were there.  They were to keep two nosy kids from coming  _ in _ , not to keep manticores  _ out _ .

 

Severus must have known. From the first moment she’d caught his scent, some part of her mind had known as well, but she was so hardened by years of numbness that it had taken a long time for her to realize.  Also, nearly dying probably hadn’t helped.

 

Another thing struck he as odd as well. She recognized the gentle feeling of shifting into a manticore. Before, it had been violent and frightening, but now...when she’d expected it, especially after her rather enjoyable experience with Severus, it was almost like changing into an outfit that had been new and uncomfortable before, but was becoming more and more enjoyable to wear as she broke it in.

 

She snort-growled with realization, then sneezed because it tickled her nose, accidentally shooting a glob of manticore spittle onto Severus’ head.

 

He didn’t seem to notice, though, dead to the world as he was, and merely began to breathe in deeply as Hermione craned her neck to desperately try and groom him so that he wouldn’t find out.  

 

Though, on second thought, she supposed that his damp hair would at least alert him to the fact that  _ something _ had happened.

 

And besides, she’d need her human body to actually explain the brilliant thought that had come to her. 

 

Severus slept, and, when Hermione finished licking his hair into a damp cowlick that he was sure to take major issue with once he awoke, she yawned and closed her eyes, sinking into a sated slumber of her own.


	11. Making Connections

Hermione stretched and yawned.  Severus was no longer lying on her belly, but this didn't bother her one bit, especially when she saw the large plate covered in meat still sizzling by the fire. 

 

“For your other appetite,” the note stuck to the side of the plate read.  It wasn't signed, but Hermione could tell it was from him thanks to his distinctive spidery scrawl. 

 

Purring loudly, Hermione made quick work of the meat and then lay back down, grooming at her fur until it shone. 

 

Of course, after all that sleeping and a filling meal, Hermione was wide awake. Though the fire’s warmth was tempting, she turned away and slunk through the kitchen, wincing as her wings caught on some of the pots and pans still set out on the counters. They made a terrible sound, but when no one came running to yell at her, she continued, making sure to tuck her wings tightly to her body. 

 

It was weird to have muscles and body parts that she wasn't used to just as it was somewhat odd to walk on all fours instead of upright. But as Hermione continued out of the kitchen and into the large entrance hall beyond, she found that she was becoming used to it rather quickly. She supposed that this must have been due to having an Animagus form- after all, squirrels often use all four legs to get around. 

 

“Mrrr!” She exclaimed, as her thoughts rushed back to what she'd thought of earlier, when she'd transformed back into a Manticore again. 

 

Though she didn't have her wand with her, Hermione knew that, technically, it was possible to change into one’s Animagus form, but it was far more difficult, required a lot of focus, and was much more difficult to change back to a human. This was a problem for many witches and wizards, some of whom spent so long in their magical form that they nearly forgot their humanity. 

 

Hermione shuddered. Though Manticores were obviously smarter than squirrels, she didn't want to be trapped forever as one. 

 

She padded around in the darkness, taking in the dilapidated state that the castle appeared to be in. She supposed that she could understand the logic Severus had used when purchasing it- after all, winters here were obviously rather extreme, and running through a giant, drafty castle would be far easier than trying to restrain a Manticore in, say, a hunter’s cabin. Severus obviously hadn't cared much to do any upkeep beyond some protective wards, which did keep some of the cold out, and stasis charms on a bunch of the larger sculptures and friezes, ostensibly in a bid to keep them from crumbling to dust during one of his Manticore rampages. The wide double doors in most areas of the castle meant that Hermione could partially extend her wings while walking through them without getting stuck. 

 

She finally made it back to the tower where Severus had made his blanket nest. The scent in the room made her purr loudly with the memory of how soft his fur had been against her body. She pressed her nose against the flattened pillows and chuffed loudly. She missed him. Even though her human mind knew that he'd be back, the Manticore part of her mind felt a keen longing and a desire to...well...Hermione knew she wouldn't object to more of  _ that _ , regardless of the form she took. 

 

The fact that she should have been at least a bit horrified at the thought of mating with a Manticore didn't seem to register, not when she knew it was Severus, albeit in a large, furry, venomous form. 

 

After rolling around and covering her body with his scent and leaving her own there as well, Hermione got to work trying out her pet theory. She closed her eyes and focused... _ hard _ . She got the same tingling sensation in her nose that she got while imagining her Animagus form and for a moment, she thought she could feel her body changing back to its human form. But then, a bitter, caustic flavor rose up through the back of her throat like bile and she found herself dry heaving with her head pressed against the floor. 

 

_ Pop _ ! 

 

_ “Hisssssssss _ !”

 

Hermione flattened her ears and turned her head to look behind her.

 

A snake that looked just like Nagini opened its mouth and bared its fangs at her, its neck rising up out of her stumpy tail. Its length was rather poor, so when it struck, it merely bit her flank, but Hermione roared in agony. The pain was instantaneous, and though Hermione logically knew that manticores were immune to all types of venom, she collapsed on her side as the pain traveled up from the entry site and a horrible hissing voice filled her mind.

 

_ Bite. Hurt. Kill.  _

 

Hermione shook her head back and forth, roaring loudly as she did so, but the voice persisted.

 

_ Hurt. Hurt him. Hurt them all. _

 

With a final roar of pain, Hermione was on her feet again and she ran around the tower room, shaking her head.  She was dimly aware that the snake growing from her tail was hovering near her ear, hissing loudly and swiped at it with her claws without much effect. Her body filled with rage and confusion. She bit into the pillows and tore the plush fabric, her human mind unable to do much to control her body until she’d finally spent her energy and lay panting upon the remains of the plush sleeping area.  As her eyes cleared, she raised her head slowly to find that her damnable snake-tail had grown sluggish and was curled up on her rump, its eyes closed.  It seemed that it couldn’t do much to control her once its venom was depleted.  Wearily, she padded down the stairs and found herself back in the kitchens. A very annoyed-looking Severus was pacing back and forth in front of the fire wearing what looked like a transfigured burlap sack. When he saw the curled, sleeping snake on her rump, he frowned and motioned for her to wait, turning and going through the warded door. A few minutes later, he rushed back out with a vial of bright green liquid.

 

“Drink this,” he said, as he unstoppered it.

 

Hermione sat on her haunches and gave him a skeptical look.

 

“It will control your snake so it won’t bite you,” he explained. “You tried to change back to your human form using your Animagus visualizations, didn’t you?”

 

Hermione lowered her head and flattened her ears, embarrassed at being caught.

 

Severus let out a rueful laugh. “Actually, it was the first thing I tried. Bit me in the arse. Literally.”

 

Hermione presented him with her flank, which seemed to have mostly healed, even though the puncture wounds were still visible.  

 

“I thought you’d need this,” Severus said with a sigh, producing out a small tube of salve from the folds of his robe.  He spread it over the bite and Hermione sagged with relief as a warm, pleasant sensation settled over the area.

 

“Mrrr,” Hermione said, bumping his shoulder gently with her head.

 

“You’re welcome, you great big menace,” Severus replied, ruffling her ears gently. “Now, then, you need to take your potion.”

 

Hermione sniffed it and sneezed, snorting with disgust.

 

“Yes, I am aware it tastes ghastly,” Severus said, deadpan. “Desperate times….”

 

Hermione looked back at the sleeping snake and sighed, angling her head back a bit and holding her mouth open.

 

Severus used one hand to pour the potion into her mouth while also rubbing the underside of her muzzle and massaging her throat gently to ensure she swallowed the entire thing.

 

Hermione shuddered and growled when she was done, shaking her head from side to side as the bitter flavor filled her mouth.

 

“Here, chew on this. It’ll take away some of the bitterness,” Severus pulled out a small spherical object and Hermione opened her mouth, allowing him to press it against her tongue.

 

She rolled it around in her mouth and sighed with relief as a sweet citrus flavor washed away the horrid bitterness of the potion.  

 

“No, I did not steal them from Albus’ office,” Severus grumbled. “I ordered them by owl. They’re Mimi’s favorite.”

 

Hermione was just relieved that her mouth no longer tasted like fermented gym socks. She chuffed loudly and nuzzled Severus until he stumbled back a bit.

 

“I missed you too, Hermione.” Severus pointed his wand at the door, the wards rising up like a shining wall. “In more than one way…”

 

Hermione pressed the side of her head against his cheek and she could hear him humming with pleasure as her fur tickled his skin gently, his eyes closed with the pleasure of it. She took this opportunity to half-pounce on him and began grooming him in earnest until he finally glared at the utter mohawk she was making of his hair.  His veins had begun to glow green and Hermione stood, allowing him to remove his ugly robes. She couldn’t help but stare at his naked body, wondering at how beautiful he was, even with the scars and the pockmarks and the parts of him that were so angular and pinched that she could see the years of starvation that had been carved from his body.

 

“Oh, and before I become an  _ insatiable _ beast,” Severus said, turning back and fixing Hermione with a look that was pure sex, “I thought you should know that the potion is ready. It just needs to cool for another twenty-four hours or so. When the full moon rises, we should be free at last.”

 

Hermione could feel her pupils dilating, but she wasn’t quite sure which was a more tempting prospect.  She settled with tackling him again and rolling until she was on her back with him lying on her belly again, just as she’d fallen asleep earlier.  

 

Somehow, it just felt  _ right _ . 

 

With a roar and a cascade of rippling skin and muscle, Severus transformed into his manticore form.  Hermione expected to shrink and turn into her human form, and yet, as before, she felt only the preliminary twinges of the change making themselves known.  Meanwhile, Severus was staring down at her with smouldering eyes, his tongue immediately being put to good use by grooming Hermione relentlessly, likely as payback for earlier and then some.  Hermione rumbled with pleasure as he pressed his weight against her, nipping at her neck in a show of play-dominance. She didn’t flinch at all, pressing her neck against his teeth in acceptance of his display.  She trusted him with her throat and her soft underbelly. She knew he would not...would  _ never _ hurt her. As soon as she thought the words, she knew they were true And, as he made it altogether obvious what more he wanted to do, she found herself rather excited at the prospect of it.  For she knew that once they’d gone  _ that _ far together in their monstrous forms as well, that it would forever change their relationship with one another.  

 

After all, it was common knowledge that manticores mate for life.


	12. For What Ails You

Hermione awoke in a warm, fluffy cloud.

No. That wasn't quite right.

She opened her eyes and stretched out a very human hand to find that she was covered in...snow?

She grasped at it, only to find it flutter away. It wasn't cold at all, which meant…

"Down?" Her voice sounded loud in the room, which, as she blinked and stared up at it, appeared to have a very high ceiling. Faded paintings of all manner of flowers ran along the support beams above her, and she wondered at their complexity.

It was like being in a dream.

She sat up slowly with a yawn, feeling the tickling wisps of the softest feathers surrounding her. She didn't need to look in a mirror to know that her hair was probably a fright.

And Severus…

Her eyes went wide and she turned from side to side, searching for him.

After...what they had done...Her face flushed red, and she could feel something purring deep in her belly like a phantom overlay of the manticore she'd been only hours earlier. There was something simpler about being a beast instead of having to muck around on two legs. Feelings felt so much more real on four paws and with razor sharp teeth.

Something warm and wet hit the back of her hand and when she touched the corner of her eye, she realized that tears were welling up and overflowing.

She was _crying_. Really, truly, _crying_.

She didn't hunch over, sobbing, but sat there, feeling them run down her cheeks, her eyes wide with the wonder of the thing. When the first sob escaped her mouth, she thought it must have been made by someone else. But there it came again, and she covered her her throat with one hand, feeling the sound vibrating there like tangible grief and joy all tangled up together.

A door opened and she faintly heard a sharp intake of breath and quick feet running to her. Something tapped gently against wood, but she couldn't see any of it clearly with the deluge of tears swimming in her vision. Warm arms curled around her, then, and she smelled him, so solid and _there_. She nearly cried out, but the sobs had taken over, pouring from her like an ugly melody that she couldn't stop singing.

Severus sat with her, holding her until she felt empty again. But, rather than the horrible hollow numbness she'd felt before, it was as though she'd purged all of the dark things that had settled inside of her after Ron had died and then the baby and then she had blamed herself for it. She touched her abdomen, remembering all that she had lost, and sniffed loudly. The time for blame was over, she knew. But it wasn't just the hollow words she had repeated in the mirror for so many months as though it would feel truer if she only kept saying them. It was like a door, shut firmly, the pain drained and gone, and a memory left over that would always be tinged with sadness, but that would not control her future days.

"Severus," she said softly, her voice husky.

"Shh, you don't have to say anything, not if you don't want to," he said, pressing his lips against her forehead.

"You're...human…" she said, because she couldn't think of anything else.

"Indeed. As are you, though, if you're ready to be more reliably human…" He trailed off, reaching to the side of her and picking something up with one hand and bringing it up to her face.

"Is that-?" Hermione suddenly remembered what he'd said...when he…

"Yes," he replied. "Are you ready?"

"It smells ghastly," she choked out as he unstoppered it.

"I was out of the lime flavored de-Manticorring-potion," he replied, deadpan, but when she looked up, she could see he was trying not to smile and failing miserably at it.

"I'm ready," she said bravely, taking a deep breath and pinching her nose.

"That's my girl," he said, and when he said it, she could feel her heart fill to bursting.

She choked it down and even the nose pinching didn't seem to have much effect. A strange tremor filled her and for a moment, she could feel something bigger than her stretching and pushing its way from her body like a second skin. Severus inhaled sharply as it seemed to rush through him, his pupils dilating and small, black ears appeared at the top of his head, flattening as he tried to look up at them as though they had a mind of their own.

Hermione giggled and felt something pop out of the back of her. Turning, expecting a snake, she held back a snicker as she saw a tufted tail. She grabbed it and waved the tip over his nose, making him squint as though trying not to sneeze.

"The potions should nullify...the…venom's curse," he said, finally. "But there might be some...er...side effects."

POP!

Leathery wings popped out of Severus' back, and he blushed crimson.

Hermione said something under her breath so softly that she almost couldn't tell what she was saying.

"What…?" When he looked up, it was a shy expression, like he was expecting her to be angry.

"I love them, Severus." She grabbed him tightly nuzzling his cheek. "I love your wings! I love your ears! I love _you_!"

He stood and twirled her around, the magic melting over both of them until they stood, dark lion and silver lioness, his batlike wings and her feathered ones outstretched and then gathered together just enough so that they could touch. She nuzzled him and he did the same, turning to twine their tails together.

They bumped noses and purred together until the room rang with the sound of their mutual happiness, and then, suddenly, they were human again, naked as the day they were born and falling back into the massive pile of feathers.

They laughed and they held each other and laughed some more.

_You are my home._

Neither had to say it, but they knew it to be true.

* * *

When the blizzard finally abated, it was Mr. Snignibbon who earned a baleful glare from one very furious and human Hermione, along with the three goblins she'd brought from Gringotts along with Bill Weasley, who had helped her to explain the details of Mr. Snignibbon's scheme in Gobbledegook, which Hermione knew fairly well, but was not fluent in by any means.

Several notarized documents were looked at and from the scathing looks that Mr. Snignibbon received, it was obvious that he had broken the most sacred of goblin codes- that of the absolute contract. For, while goblins did believe that all land and items belonged to the goblins after the death of their contracted owners, they were quite clear about what was to happen if a goblin tried to steal what was rightfully given in contract.

After the dressing-down he received, it was obvious that Mr. Snignibbon would not be building anything, ski resorts or otherwise, and Severus Snape was awarded a hefty amount of Galleons directly from Mr. Snignibbon's account.

"Sub-paragraph 39, Section 12 of all goblin contracts," Bill said with a wink. "Gets the greedy ones every time."

He did seem rather flabbergasted at first when Hermione smiled back at him and thanked him warmly, but when she took Severus' hand, his scarred lips turned up in a knowing smile.

"Good," was all he said before Apparating away with his co-workers.

The drafty castle was still run down, but with the Galleons to fix it up, Severus and Hermione built a beautiful home together, one that housed a giant glass-ceiling greenhouse that two full-sized poison-free manticores could romp through without breaking anything. They did, however, keep the messy tower for when their manticore bodies got "frisky." There were always plenty of deliciously rippable down pillows inside, of course.

Mimi was overjoyed to know that the man that had saved her and the woman that had saved him were no longer chained to one form or another, especially when Severus and Hermione married the following spring and she was given the auspicious job of flowergirl. They adopted her not long after.

As for Charlotte, who mostly stayed as grumpy and surly as ever, she was able to receive a formal apprenticeship with one of Severus' masters that summer, and went on to be one of the youngest Potions Mistresses in the Wizarding World. She still broke down and cried when Severus and Hermione asked her to allow them to adopt her, even though she was almost seventeen and could have claimed adulthood in three months. She smiled more often, and she loved her adoptive parents, and, when Hermione gave birth to her first child- a son, who tumbled into the world as a gold-furred cub with tiny wings long before he grew comfortable in human skin, Charlotte became his second mother whenever she was home, carrying him around and teaching him everything she could about the world.

Though nothing could ever be said to be perfect, their family was whole and all were loved within those castle walls. The vibrant castle, so long in disrepair, finally matched the natural beauty of the surrounding wood as if to banish the darkness that had held them all for so long.

It wasn't just that they _lived_ , oh no.

They _thrived_ , and all the world was better for it.

 


End file.
